The Last Day of 2009

The last day of 2009 and I feel like crap. I don't think it is all physcial either. Lots of mental mumbo jumbo mixed in with a creaking neck and a whopper of a headache and some nausea that makes going out to rock in the new year a miss! No, this Nana is staying in and watching the ball drop on TV and sipping on some tummy soothing tea and maybe surfing my Facebook page. My husband volunteered our grand-child sitting services so it could be fun watching the grandson put on his cutsy shows, too. I don't worry much about him catching my 'yuk' since it is safe to say, he and his grand-Popo probably shared thiers with me. So crap it is... or maybe.... out with the crap, in with the ??? Yeah, let's hope 2010 will be a new year, full of blessings and health!

Today, the last day of this year, is Thursday. It is also a night of the full moon. A 'blue moon' even, in that it is the second full moon of the month and rare in occurance, as the last full moon on New Year's Eve was nearly 20 years ago. This alone may be the reason for such a blue mood walking me out of 2009. Fact or fiction, full moons play havoc with my emotions and so.., two in one month!!! Since this particular holiday season evokes painful childhood memories anyway, as well as magnifiying a history of depression and then to put outside influences on top of the mess....guess this year ending was just destined to be over-whelming. But, before I sound too sappy, I must also note that though my blue mood may have been primed by this years 'Blue Moon' I really don't feel THAT bad. More numb than bad. Is numb bad? So, this evening is coming in clear and cold and with a full moon. Hm...I feel an electrical charge race thru my body as I ponder the coming midnight. Thursday closes and Friday begins, the last day, December 31, 2009 dies and January 1, 2010 is born. Hm...

So, here I sit, at 4:08 pm and post in Sam's Thots, my thought's, on the impact this year has had on me.

Whew...just got slammed with a head rush of stuff! I'm gona need some sorting time and then, see, just what I might be willing to reveal on how this year is drawing to it's close on my life. Wow, another year added to the 56+ already survived! Hm..... Too much STUFF in this mind of mine now to think of adding each new year yet to come. In fact, walking into 2010 makes breathing difficult when I think about it. I feel like I'm smothering in the enclosing, pending unknown. Where did my youthful optimism go? My zeal for a new day, a new year? I need to do some sorting mentally before I put 'pen to hand', so to speak. Need some time of reflection and then I'll be back.

Coming To The Close of 2009

It is hard to believe that this year is almost over already! Thanksgiving has passed and Christmas is just weeks away! These holiday seasons are always my most difficult for seasonal blues and feelings of being over whelmed. I use to retreat into some dark corner of my mind and walk through the motions of thankfulness and holiday cheer. Or I'd panic! More often I'd panic and try to hide! As a little tike I'd hide in bed or in front of the TV. As I grew up, I hid in a bottle of booze or worse. Eventually though I feared hiding as a form of living death and prayed for help. God gave me wise teachers and I learned a new way to believe. And over the years I've learned new ways to get through these last two holidays of the year.

Over the years, I've learned that darkness can be lightened, no pun intended, and I actually get glimpses of real joy and a warming to the soul during these holidays now. But first I had to understand there was baggage with abuse and severe trama that matched the severe abuse I had suffered those early years. I had to also understand how 'triggers' could set in motion unreasonable, predictable reactions in certain situations for me. When I was a child, these holidays were more nightmares...rarely a celebration of thankfulness and the birth of a baby Jesus.

Over the years, I've learned to identify and recognize the 'triggers' and I've learned how to not react. Instead of reacting, I now try to identify, recognize and apply a new tool to respond with healing. Many such tools were acquired and more tools are continually added in my ongoing self review and desire to leave the blues behind and feel the liberating joy these holidays can bring. I'm learning to let go of the memories that haunt the mind of an abused and broken child. I'm learning to forgive....starting with myself and going backwards to that little girl who wasn't as bad as she thought she must have been, to deserve such horror, and to forgive the ugliness of alcoholism and it's accompaning dysfunctions. It's been a slow, continual process, for me, but now I can look back and see change and I can believe.

So Thanksgiving is over and the kids who came to eat turkey with us, have gone home to decorate thier homes for Christmas. The once noisy chatter of grandchildren is silent, in PoPo's home, and the computer has once again got NaNa's full attention ... though her Facebook addiction is to PoPo's chagrin. It it is important to note that my blue scale, so far this year, is tolerable and truly enjoying the house full of family was more than a treat, it was magical and healing. No pretend motions through the Thanksgiving long weekend off. I refused to focus on anything negative and ate everything, til I thought I would burst! No panic, just thoughts of love and gratitude for these gifts God bestowed on me. Family. Still a slightly dysfunctional family but less on the dark side and more, now, on the humorous side.

I wish I could promise to hold on to this light mood and have Christmas find me in full adoration of the celebration of Christ and singing the holiday songs with gusto!! But I feel that nagging dread and it has been haunting me, whispering to me that something is coming. Something very difficult. Oh...may it not be! May it just be a feeling of dread that, already, the end of this year is near. May it be a dread of the work ahead that coming to the close of 2009 has spurred in me. And most of all, may it be unfounded dread. Maybe I can just put one foot in front of the other and learn a new dance to take me, all in swirls and dips, to the start of new beginnings that could be welcomed in with 2010 and to the end of any 2009 lingering dread. Maybe I could dance such a dance through the dreaded year end holidays and close my inner eyes to the painful little girl memories and open my heart eyes to the healing older woman. A woman who survived and is full of hope .... even when I find things hard to believe.

A Snowy Weekend in October.

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Snow in October is not that unusual. I've been around over 50 winters now, and October is often the first month of snow. I can even remember some winters begining as early as September. I remember winters of heavy snow and high drifts but those mememories seem so long ago. Even more than 20 years ago, our snows weren't heavy enough to sled in our yard with out the aide of the white truck. I can still remember sitting in what we used as the dining room back then, and watching Ron pull Shelby and G.C. on sleds. Round sleds worked the best and if they could keep Sheena, the Rott, from dragging them off the sled...presumably away from danger, they could get a good whip going. Maybe, Sheena was on to something, because I would hold my breath, as they'd whip around and say a quick prayer that they wouldn't whip all the way around in front of the truck. God seem to put upon Ron's heart the wisdom and judgement of turning at the right moment and keeping all the fun safe, but for me...nail biting half the time and laughing the other half when Sheena, who after she had pulled kids off the sled, would run, jump and usually fall on the now empty sled, thus riding it back to start. I might have to dig through the VHS video archives for some of those sledding moments.

The snow that fell this weekend, early October, was over 12", 15" in some places and drifts of over 2 ft. Seems to me I've heard ski reports refer to powder snow. Well, this was a light, fluffy, powder like snow. Cold and blowing most of night to reveal in the first light a thick blanket of snow like we haven't seen in years. So light and fluffy that it didn't drag down leaf laden branches. It was feather light, until it melted a bit and got sticky by noon and yet travel wasn't difficult...almost normal. We've been in a drought for several years now and so this was part blessing, part surreal.

Second Chances

What is a Nanny? Webster Dictionary, defines nanny as: a childs nursemaid. When I refer to myself as Nanny, I prefer to define my roll as, child and home care giver. I think of it as a priviledge and an honor to be intrusted with the care of a precious gift...a child.

I wish I could praise my work as excellent, but in all honesty I have had to humbly make some adjustments because under my watch, things have gotten broken, as a home care provider, and when my grandson fell down a flight of stairs, I nearly retired early from being his child care provider...his Nanny Nana. My daughter seemed to graciously understand that even under the best of care, her's or Daddy's, her son was still falling and bumping along.

I worked several years for a company that had frequent lay offs and I was caught up in four of them. During my last layoff and while waiting for rehire, I took on cleaning for a dear lady on oxygen most of the day. It wasn't long before another charming lady requested I come and help her in her home. By word of mouth my homes grew to a number that allowed me to have my own buisness in homecare. Finally, graduating with a Buisness Degree in my early 40's (after the first lay off that caught me) was proving its worth in my late 40's. It was the best time and very liberating to be my own boss and not have the stress of a next lay off.

When my grandson was born, I had already approached my daughter with the desire to care for him. And soon this matched her desire to have me do so. I shrunk my homes to the ones that I could clean around the care of my grandson and took a huge cut in my established pay. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. This was a choice because it was in my heart to be there for my grandchildren, in a way I may not have been for thier Momma and Daddy. But it wasn't until I had my grandson in my care for a few months that I came to believe this was a second chance for me.

I have a second chance to care for my grandson in a manner rich in transformation as Nana the Nanny, than I was as a young, single, dysfunctional Mother to my oldest son. I am often haunted by the mistakes I made in my late teens and twenties, in raising my children, especially my eldest son and only consoled when I reflect on how far I have come.

I give God the credit for my transformation. Only through His Guidance have I been able to be who I am now and not who I was then. He guided me to new tools, to people who could reach me in my despair and to opportunities that still amaze me to this day. Miracles, I call them! And He's not finished with me yet. He put me in charge of the care of this grandson, His gift, to heal some old wounds and calm the haunted soul. Of that I am now sure!

Nanny sounds so warm and loving to me. I have a quiet laugh, not like Fran the TV Nanny, and I am prone to act like a kid myself. I am not a qualified nurse but I know now how to nourish and nurture, foster positiveness, and protect from harm. I'm not the best maid but when I do clean, I clean up a storm! It is important to me to do my best and I'm grateful for a another chance to do just that!

The Kennedy Legacy Has Touched My Heart.

Found my old scrap book!! Click on a picture and it'll bring it in closer. Wonder how I turn them around so ya start with the Kennedy assassination clipping? Anyway, remembered I had these clippings when I edited the following thot's, spurred on by the loss of Senator Teddy Kennedy.


Where was I when I heard of Edward M. Kennedy's death? On my way home after picking up my grandson to care for him at Ron's house. I listen to a local religious radio station when driving and the announcement of his passing was part of the news break. Unlike the fairly recent deaths of Farrah Faucett and Micheal Jackson, this announcement hit me hard and by the time I got Corban settled into a play routine, and CNN pulled up on the TV, I was in tears. No, I did not PERSONALLY know Senator Kennedy but a big part of my political passions were spurred by the Kennedy legacy. So much so, that I named my son after President John F. Kennedy. If I would have had another son, Edward...or better, Teddy may have been a consideration.

Nebraska is a Republican state and Ogallala, my home town, is a staunch republican city. So mourning the death of a Democrat is likely a lone experience. In fact, when I did express my sorrow to someone close to me, I was slapped quiet with thier words of animosity and near glee that Senator Edward Kennedy was finally out of the picture. Guess I should have known better. It's not like this hasn't been a common reaction any time I try to give my opinion on political issues with my skewed Democratic beliefs. In fact, with all the pressure to not believe as I do, I'm surprised that I remain Democrat in such a controlling republican environment.

I was young when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Grandma and I watched his funeral on TV. I remember feelings of sadness and confusion. I remember hearing the adults claim he was murdered for his beliefs, for his support of black folks (only many of them weren't using the term black), and his lack of support of the Vietnam War. I remember hearing them claim he may have even been killed by Vice President Ford. I remember being appalled at the way everyone was talking.

I often wonder why I didn't just take on thier attitudes and learn to be like them. Isn't that what young minds do? Absorb the beliefs and attitudes of those they grow up with? Maybe it was the fact, I didn't trust any of those speaking. Most of them had hurt me in some way, so what they thought seemed to be part of the nightmare. Maybe it was Grandma and Mom, both were very soft in thier response to President Kennedy's death, who influenced me, but I began to crave information on the Kennedy's and went on a reading frenzy.

What I learned about them fascinated me and a respect for them grew and was never squelched even as I uncovered unsavory things about them. In fact, the scandals seemed to humanized them to me and thier causes matched my own. One thing I learned fast, growing up poor, money talks. I knew that if the poor were going to have a voice, it would have to come from someone who understood what was at stake. I believed that voice came from the Kennedy's.

I was in high school when my interest in politics bloomed and though I could not vote, I campaigned for Bobby Kennedy. How exciting to be there when the campaign train stopped in Ogallala, NE and Bobby Kennedy spoke from the back of the Caboose. What a thrill to see him, to nearly touch him, and I could just feel his energy. I was so proud of my family, as I had convinced them to vote democrat! My republican family was going to vote for Bobby Kennedy! We were going to stop sending our boys to war to be slaughtered!

I had come home from school one day and was tinkering around the house when my step-dad, Blaine, came bouncing in and seeing me, spit out:

"So, your old buddy Bobby Kennedy got shot today!"

"What!" I exclaimed in shock and disbelief.

I threw on the TV and when what Blaine had said was confirmed and worse, Bobby Kennedy was dead, I collapsed in sobs. The news of upper classmates, who had been killed by the war, hadn't hit me as hard as the news of Senator Robert Kennedy's assassination did. I wonder what I must have looked like to Blaine. As I sat on the floor, sobbing into my hands, he stood over me laughing.....laughing at my sorrow and dismay. I think I began my staunch support of the Hippie Movement on that day.

Over the years since, I've continued to read on the Kennedy's and watch as Senator Edward Kennedy rose and fell in politics. Over the years, and especially, as he took on the Health Care Cause, I have been disappointed in Teddy's detours in scandal. I have been equally hopeful when with each scandal, he would humbly rally with renewed commitment and determination against the corruption that tried to silence his voice by using each scandal to keep the focus off that very corruption that is bringing our country to its knees in these last few years.

I deeply supported his outrage that quality health care should be a right and not a priviledge for the rich. I have too many personal experiences and family stories of how our present system has failed. Senator Kennedy was our champion for this to change and now his voice is forever quiet. He wasn't assassinated and he never quit. HIS quality health care, that he wanted us all to have, couldn't conquer his brain tumor and our champion's voice was silenced. Who will champion this cause now? Surely, there is hope because who would have thought we'd ever elect a Black President? Senator Edward Kennedy knew we would!

It's been a over a month since Senator Edward Kennedy died. Like his President brother, I watched his funeral on TV. I learned how dear he was to all who knew him, even those who viewed him as an enemy. I heard stories that I could never have picked up in all my reading. He was a good man, who had some troubled times, but tried to overcome and thought about quitting but never did. He loved to sing, often not in tune, and was loved by his Kennedy clan as well as by his co-workers, as well as by a perfect stranger like me.

Just an after note: I began this post, shortly after learning of Teddy's death and finally finished my thot's on this day of September 29, 2009.

I hear your scream little one.
You've learned how to get our attention,
And we sure want you to move on!
Try some words, dear,
Like "Hey Nana, I want that plant!"
Or "Stop saying no!"



I enjoy being a grandma, except for the physical aspect of aging that comes with such an honor. I was blessed to be a part of the birth of my daughter's two children. What an experience and oh so much better from this side then when she and her older brother were born!

There is a special bond between grandchild and grandparent. At least, it feels this way with my grandchildren. I am so much more patient, tolerant and loving than in my younger years. Is it because they aren't with me as long and when challenging, can be sent home to Mom and Dad? Maybe.

CHURCH IN A CAN?

Today, I didn't go to church.
Haven't been to church in a long time.
Instead, I ate breakfast to TV Church,
read Psalms 29-34 and prayed for a time,
and wrote a request to put in my God can.

God can?

I have a metal container,
a can with a lid,
with cherubs painted on the sides
and all antique looking.

This is my God can.

When my head is too full,
and I feel powerless under burdens,
then I write down my woes,
and give them to God.

I put on paper my prayer requests,
writing names of those I despair over,
and asking God to show mercy and forgive,
and then I fold and fit it in God's can.

God can.
I can't.


Once I opened my God can,
reading the prayers and reflecting,
were some answered? Yes.
And some are still pending.

God can.
I can't.

No, today, I didn't go to church.
I miss having a church home and God time.
So I stayed home and searched,
and wrote my prayer one more time,

and put it in my God can.

MY LINCOLN MARATHON HERO MAY 2009

YOU ARE AMAZING AND INSPIRING CO!

Monday. Whew! This weekend was inspiring and full. I traveled nearly 500 miles to be part of the support team for Co, who was running in the Lincoln Marathon 2009, held Sunday in Lincoln, Nebraska. She ran the half marathon, 13+ miles! In picture up above caught the clock before and after she ran by. However, didn't catch exact moment she crossed line. Co called a few days later when she recieved her recorded time: 2 hr and 18 min....WOW!

I am in awe of her accomplishment and had so much fun in the chase vehicle with her husband and two of her sons. This is an amazing family to me. In the 36+ years I've known Co, I've witnessed her love and commitment to her family and am moved by her loyalty and growth over these years. I was equally honored that day to be part of her family support team and to show my commitment and respect for her and our many years of friendship! I don't do this often enough and it shames me to admit it. What makes our friendship enduring is found in the fact that I know she forgives me. I need to be close to those kind of people...the forgiving ones...because I tend to do a heap of things that need forgiven! Now, those who know me....like my kids, who are all grown up, know that I have gone through many changes in my life path. I'm not who I use to be. I'm better everyday and I got a ways to go to get to my best. Co and her family are a big part of my life path to become more than I could ever be without them!

So, as part of the family, a family of very conservative folks, most of 'em anyway. If you click on picture above of family & me, it'll be easy to pick out the conservative ones! :) Anyway, my job was to embarass or inspire her, depending on how she perceived it, by cheering her on. I am very good at cheering and so right out the chute I was a hollering, whistling and screaming out in THAT voice........

(the same voice I used when the kids were little and would disappear in the store expecting me to play hide and seek but when ready to leave, and already exhausted from trying to find them lil burgers (!), I'd just march to the front of the store and announce my departure, nameing the lil critters that expected a ride and throwing in a warning that I would drive away without them...all without the aide of a microphone. Yes, those mortified lil burgers would come running, knowing I very well would have driven off and made them walk home. That was more than a 6 mile walk! Geez, now-a-days, I'd be turned in, probably with some video feed from the store shown across the country with a news report refering to the crazy, child abuser!)

....THAT voice bellowed what ever came to mind and I'd like to take this moment, Co, should you ever read this... to apologize for THAT voice and what ever came out that may have embarassed you, dear friend. Oh, and I'm saying sorry for anything I may yell in future cheering sessions. However, I'll never stop cheering on those dear to my heart just because I might blooper my calls! You, dear friend, know that most everything that comes out of MY mouth seems to be a blooper. What many determined was due to my blonde hair are now wondering if I just might be 'special'. What? What was that you are muttering?

Yes, I'm inspired to start taking better care of myself so I can be around a bit longer to pursue my best and to go on many more of these support team adventures with friends! Inspired....but 13 miles? Maybe next year I'll jog/walk a half of a half with my friend Co and let everyone else embarass and inspire us on. Maybe. Guess I better start training now huh?

AND THE LOST FIND EACH OTHER

FINALLY! When Mark died a year ago, it catapulted us into a rush of plans, mistakes (I didn't have Mark's birthday correct in the Keith Co News obituary!), and trying to contact everyone. I had to leave some names off the quickly published obituary in Ogallala because I couldn't get information needed before it went to print.

We did all the planning and all arrangements with out the help of a mortuary. They assisted us in caring for Mark but we picked him up from the home and the rest was on us. I learned from this experience that the help of a trusted mortuary can lighten the grieving load tremendously!!! It is now my prayer to get my preparations completed soon, so my loved ones never go through the stress we experienced in losing Mark before we were ready. I will stop using the excuse...is anyone ever ready!

ANYWAY....losing Mark was hard enough, and added to our grief was the inability to connect and locate all of his children. So, finally, Tonya found Momma Sue on MySpace this week and yesterday, she and I had our first phone call in more than 7 years. It was very emotional for this Aunt Sandy, and I agree with Momma Sue's posting on Facebook, "Thank You, Lord!"

MARK YOU CAME FULL CIRCLE FROM THE SOUTH

A fence line blocks the free roam, we youths of yesteryears had of the sandhills of Nebraska. So it was, that day in April of 2008, when we watched you, Mark, taken away on the wind of an impending spring storm, intermingled with rose petals all swirling together...up, up,.......WHOSH! Aside, from the strong wind, it was, for me, a most awesome experience. Aside, from the sadness of heart, it was a powerful closing on a life full of turbulance and extremes....a life that touched many!

There, looking South, the fence, the post....there's Sue's rose, dried to the most deep red. It would eventually succomb to the elements, like the wind...or maybe you, Mark?

One can catch glimpses of the small town of Paxton and looking off in the farthest Southernly direction, one would find Imperial, though too far to see. Paxton was our 1st true hometown in Nebraska, wasn't it Mark? And where we laid claim to the sandhills and Platte Rivers as a temporary playground. So, what drew you to Imperial?

Only you and Sue know the stories of Imperial and those special memories are, now, only for her telling. How we came to gather in Imperial to remember you, is a fascinating adventure in itself...but not one for the telling today. No, the main reason we were in Imperial was because Mom was in the nursing home there. It wasn't until family was gathering that I learned that your romance with Sue included Imperial.

In fact, before the Celebration (since you requested no funeral), Sue took you, wrapped like the gift you were in red wrap with Nebraska Football stickers, for one last journey around the old haunts, belonging to the two of you. Funny too, cuz if it had been a funeral...you'd of fulfilled any confrontation of being late to your own funeral! When you hadn't arrived after most had gathered, I had to call your wife and ask when you'd finally be arriving. A cause for a smile now since I wasn't smiling then. God works in mysterious ways! The circle was complete.

Look to the South, Mark...to Imperial where the Church of Christ opened thier doors and hearts for us to gather and celebrate your life! Look to the South, Mark...to Paxton, where we met in the home of Aunt Grace and Uncle Al! You would have been so moved by thier hospitality, feeding the troops and giving of themselves in such a loving way and on a moments notice! Oh, and Mark, they even climbed Windy Gap with about fifty of us and shared an experience that moved nearly all of us to tears!

Look, in all the directions from this chosen vantage point, Mark. See the memories in every vista and listen for our love and forgiveness on the wind.

MARK, LOOK EAST AND KNOW HOME

From each vantage point of Windy Gap, you can see what became. A boy of eight, trekked all over these sandhills, playing games and looking out at such awesome vistas. Here to the East, a boy of eight would not have seen the Gerald Gentleman Plant off in the distance, or ever dreamed of working there. It hadn't been built yet. He would have stood here and thought he could see to the end of the earth! Still, when this eight year old became a young man in his late 20's, he worked during GGS shutdowns. Didn't stay to be hired as a regular as this wasn't his destiny. No, his destiny was further East.

Further East,
but not easily seen,
paths to the lives of many.
East became home.
Others have the stories,
only they can tell.
Stories of Mark,
both dark and light.
Every path encounters shadows,
all must learn to pass,
and chose those paths,
of fewer shadows,
and more awesome vistas.

TO THE NORTH WAS YOUR PLAYGROUND, MARK

The sandhills, North of Paxton, served as our playground for several years. Those years, in some ways, were our healing years. Mom had whisked us out of Colorado and away from that seven year nightmare and we could breathe and our fears began to subside. We bunked for a short time with Mom's folks and then moved next door to a wee little home. Our three room house was small, cramped and we had some rip, roaring fights but oh, what fun! Poor, no T.V., not much for possessions but we had each other. And we had the sandhills!

We only had to go two blocks to the North...just past the Ronje's house, up into the hills we'd hike. Mark and Carl often hiked all over Windy Gap, further into the sandhills than most cared to go, or would just follow the canal for miles. They would often disappear when it was chore time or when they were in some kind of trouble. That's just what those sandhills were for! A haven for most of the town kids, who would scramble all over those hills, dodging rattlers and playing like we were wild horses or wild Indians or war...since the Vietnam war was on everyone's mind back then and President Kennedy had been assassinated not long after moving to Paxton.

We moved from that three roomed house (kitchen, bath, and big room we used for living room and bedroom) and lived for a few months across the street from the Luthern Church and only 1 block from the sandhills! With our first dog, Flip, and a few new Paxton friends, a trek up North was a weekly, sometimes, daily event. Those were some of our best times as kids...and so it makes sense that this is where Mark came to rest.

MARK LOOK WEST AND OVER THE HILL

West and over the hill, you can almost see where Grandpa & Grandma lived, and next to them, the little three room house that began our permanent stay in Nebraska. Temporary home to a newly single mother of four, three boys and a girl.

If you look further West, ya just might see our 1st home in Ogallala. Wow, that Mom of ours! Raising four kids and buying a home. It was a tough life though. We had our first permanent home but where Carl had the toughest breaks when we lived further West, in Colorado, you suffered some of your worst breaks in your life in Nebraska...starting, just West, over the hill.

Do you have the answers now, Mark, to all your whys? Why, you came West that weekend in April of 2008, was the only why, we all knew. A Funeral for our younger cousin, Cindy. Loosing her impacted so many and since you had missed some major funerals already, from illness, coming West was a mission. A mission with many layers to unfold. Layers that the rest of us are still unfolding. So, now, has it all been unfolded for you, Mark?

Ok, if you look even further West, you may see Ron's home. It was a real joy to my heart to have you and brother Carl in our home that weekend. In reflection, it was a very deep time for us to talk about mistakes we both made, regrets and amends. Isn't that how the death of a loved one makes us talk of things we fear we may never say before our own death wisks us away, as it had Cindy? How could we know it would be our last talk and so deep was what the time required.

Your health had become your biggest enemy, huh, Bro? And living on borrowed time was becoming visibly more difficult. Funny though, I can still hear your laughter and jokes amid the grunts of pain and complaints of that crappy tasting _ _ _ _ that was required to take a _ _ _ _ . I wish I had your gift to laugh in adversity as much as you did....as much as you tried. I'm a whiner,...a real whimp compared to what you had to endure for so many years. Do you hurt anymore, Mark? That was what you told me you prayed for most....I should be grateful that your prayer was answered. I just wish you didn't have to go little brother!

West, is to some Native American cultures, the direction for death. Interesting that your last trip was West. You were home...yet, not home any more. Things had changed, people have changed and a funeral for Cindy was both a time to say good-bye to her and pay our respect to her sisters and all who loved her....it also became a venue from which all who loved, you, Mark, were, not knowingly, seeing and touching you...hearing you laugh that incredible laugh... for the last time....and, not knowingly, saying 'good-bye'.

Timber!

No one was around when this tree surrendered and became broken. One only has to look and stand among the broken patterns of limbs, sticks and decay, to imagine what it may have sounded like.

How many more battles between wind and dead wood and decay will occur? Hopefully the house or cars won't fall victum?

Wind and Tree Rot Don't Bond Well

Windy day that Tax Day! As the country blew in a slew of 'tea party' protests, the Plains were battered and pressed with strong winds that made driving, or work out in the open, a nightmare. It was no surprise that the rotting trees on Shel's front lawn would surrender thier stoic death, by collapsing with a crack, like lightning, and a smashing thud and shower of popping sticks.

Whew! The rages of the wind tore half the tree down opposite of where the kids had parked thier cars. Now there are only 5 more stoic deaths to worry about.

Tax Day

This day use to panic me. More often than not I have been able to eek out a return rather than pay in, so why panic? My Mom was audited once and what a mess she was. I don't think she was my only influence though. In school, I learned we came to this country to flee outrageous taxation and pursue religious freedom (among other persuits) only to become slaves to taxation and persecuted for our religious freedom!

Today there were 'tea parties' to protest our rising tax burden. I fear panic will soon be likened more as a calm word and national terror will be the nearer replacement. I fear even more though, the confusion of the masses, as we turn to devour even the innocent, in trying to find someone to stone for the guilt of this tax mess settling around our children and grandchildren.

Whose fault is it? Who cares!! Why is that so important, other than not following them into further demise....but since WHO is up for debate and has everyone's focus then time will be wasted...just as it was when a blind eye was turned to the gross greed that tumbled the housing market, the banks, the stock market, and more. Do these 'tea parties' know what the solotion is? Do they know why they doth protest?

Wow, nearly every community held some sort of 'tea party' protest. Took me back to my hippie years. Those were years just shy of the late 60 early 70's riots,then the assassinations of Senator Kennedy and Martin Luther King. It was too much!! No more!! Every one had a say, nearly everyone took to the streets...except us folks in the sandhills. If ya wanted to march in a protest you were going to have to get to a hub city where protests grew to thousands...all with one voice.

Yes, very impressive, for today's 'tea party' protests touched even the smaller communities in these here sandhills of Nebraska. People united in a single voice that cries out about the tax burden coming, far worse than any burden experienced thus far and is more than we can handle. Why? Because we are being asked to sacrafice our children.....and our grandchildren.

I'm excited for change. If it is change for the better. Hard change...even adversity is bearable if the end result is for the good of all. I'm willing to make sacrafices so my children and grandchildren can benefit from my mistakes. Benefit...not suffer!

The Third Day

Easter, according to Webster, is an annual Christian festival in the spring celebrating the resurrection of Jesus. Today celebrates, that the tomb they laid Jesus in, was found empty the morning they arrived, near dawn, to properly prepare the body for burial.

I don't pretend to understand this. I am in awe of this possibility and have many years of questions and doubts, yet, I do believe. I believe in what I don't understand because I fear God more than any god I've been introduced to. I believe in what seems preposterous, foolish, even crazy to many, so as not to be sorry when I die and find out it was true. Should it not be true, what have I lost? Life in this world has been hell already and my scars are deep...but I fear a hell worse than what I've already experienced or witnessed by not believing in the resurrected Christ!

With both, Dad and Mark's death I experienced such a tear in my heart. I was holding Dad when he died and I arrived at the hospital within an hour after brother Mark died. I was insane with sobs and grief after the loss of both. And with both, a sort of numbness settled around me and I stumbled for days...in a fog. Now if either of them had disappeared and then appeared later......how could my heart not burst from the sheer volume of emotion this experience would produce.....but no... this was not to be for them. So what was it like like for those whom witnessed the death and tombing of Christ, only to see him on the third day? The day he promised he would be raised, the third day after he was destroyed.

The resurrection of Jesus impacted his followers so much that they were transformed and risked thier lives to tell everyone of this experience. Faith in the resurrection of Jesus has transformed folks I knew were lost, into someone I hardly recognize. My Mom was one of those folks. Can such faith be ever found in me? Sometimes I'm over-whelmed with faith and filled with such peace and love. More often I'm stuck in a rut, buried under a mountain or screaming in a row boat on an ocean of stormy waves, no oars and taking on water fast!

Every time I've heard the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus, or read it in the Holy Scriptures, I'm captivated. I can picture the confusion, the deep sorrow, then the absolute, awe inspiring wash of emotion to behold one who was dead but now risen. I feel thier feelings, I think, when I witness similar near death recoveries of family and friends who walked a path of self destruction, a type of walking dead and when they find God, a Higher Power, Jesus the Christ.....they rise from what they once were to absolutely, awe inspiring folks! These special experiences give me hope. Hope that I, too, can be transformed and that when no longer in the flesh here, that I leave a legacy of love...not hurt, not pain, not death!

DESTROY THIS TEMPLE AND I WILL RAISE IT IN 3 DAYS!

Saturday. Good Friday was to remember Jesus died. He spent Saturday in the tomb, basically buried. Saturday was thier Sabbath so what ever they needed to do to 'prepare' His body after death, was post poned until Sunday morning....except that he may have been cleaned up some and wrapped and placed in a tomb belonging to someone else who hadn't died yet. (Which was Ok cuz He wasn't going to be there long and the fella could have had his own tomb back.)

What was that day like? What was it like in a cave tomb, dark, silent, cold? What was going through everyones mind that had been touched by Jesus and did not expect him to die!? What was the air like? Did the sun shine or did it stay cloudy, and dark all day? A forced day of no work, complete rest for some and a day without for the poor. What did everyone do, or say, or did they all stay quiet.? Numb?

I don't know what Jesus experienced that day in that tomb. I sometimes compare His tomb to the 'tombs' I have experience as a victum and some I turned myself in....literally inward, a prison and tomb of sorts, that I often created all by myself. Some very dark and 'grave' moments that kept me buried longer than 1 day. Weeks, even years!

My plea to God is that I never experience those darkened tombs for more than a day anymore. More often I ask why have to experience them at all? No answer yet to that question! Instead, He often teaches me that some plants grow more awesome than before after time in a cool, dark place. Also that Spring always follows the dead of Winter. So one full day in the tomb. One full day to feel down and depressed....then get up, out and move. Believe again. Hope and Love again.

Hm...what was that time in the tomb like. That day the Son of God was not found walking His familiar paths. What was that day like? The shock of such a day I often liken to our September 11, 2001 or even back further when John F. Kennedy was killed....of course there are other events that bring home the 'shock' of the day after Jesus was crucified but soon the dawn of a new day would bring on an experience that is beyond comprehension.

Tomorrow will be the third day.

Good Friday?

A PICTURE CAPTURES MEMORIES OF THAT TIME

This is not a picture of Mom's Sunday chicken dinner but
that's the kitchen she cooked it in and that's the table
and Don, then clockwise: Mark, Carl, myself and Donny,
peeking up at the camera.....and Mom taking the shot. Hm...
this could have been taken on a Friday. But by 1963, there
were not many good days...let alone, a Good Friday!


MEMORIES COME FORWARD WHEN BECKONED.......OR NOT....

So, Good Friday. What does this mean? I was taught that this day is to remember a day when Jesus was crucified. Apparently the good part is, He died with purpose? A sacrifice. A final sacrifice that was to atone for sin. (Good thing too, as there aren't enough animals and birds to sacrifice in present day, for sin, as was required in the Ancient Biblical Times! Or do they still do this in Israel?)God gave his only Son, an Innocent, Pure, put to death for the guilty. A wash. Jesus died for things he didn't do. The Perfect Lamb. And this day is set aside to remember that Sacrifice, the day, Jesus the Christ died.

Good Friday Remembrance was given in an Easter sermon that I actually paid attention to, in my late 20's and had become a regular at the Berean Fundamental Church in Lincoln, NE. I don't remember the sermon, the lesson taught even. I only remember the picture the sermon brought to mind.


*********************
It was a Sunday chicken dinner that Mom had prepared for all of us. My favorite memories are of Mom and her cooking. It wasn't because she was a good cook but more because she was an animated cook. She would dance or sing or goof off and her goofiness was catching.

In this memory, it was a chicken dinner and boy did she make the best fried chicken! She'd get out her favorite frying pan, turn on the radio to Sunday polka music and grab one of us kids to dance polka with, in between turning the chicken. Those were the good ole days, when Mom still laughed and seemed happy. But things would change...or this memory wouldn't have come up during an Easter Sunday sermon.

On this particular Sunday, our step-dad, Don, was home from trucking and was sober. That meant a good day and so my guard was down. I don't remember when or how it came about but I had snitched a big bite off a juicy chicken breast to claim my territory. I put it back on the platter thinking no one would want that juicy tidbit with it's big chunk missing. Well, before we even got to sit down to eat, Don noticed the damage. He claimed personal offense that someone had taken a chunk out of his special piece of chicken! He then demanded from myself and two of my brothers that the guilty party confess.

I didn't know it was his chicken, for if I had, I never would have touched it! Now I was in for it and oh how I didn't want to have to go downstairs! I nearly peed my pants I was so scared and so I blurted out that my brother did it! Yes, that's right, Carl ate that piece of chicken and as I said it, I could see him cringe and try to disappear as he whimpered back that he did not eat ANY chicken. I remember that look of surprise and deep pain in his eyes and that stabbed me deeper than my fear of Don's beating. Why Don beat Carl more often that Mark and I, is still a mystery. And even though I was a mite myself, I knew that Carl wasn't holding up well and....well, knowing he was going to suffer another of Don's beatings made me regret my lie.

I have often, in the years since, wondered if Don had witnessed my act when he instructed me to turn to my little brother and beat him for eating his special piece of chicken. Oh, no...me?!!! I begged not to and even volunteered to go downstairs, but to no avail. As I beat on my brother, innocent of the very act I commited, I sobbed as hard as he was sobbing. But I never confessed....until years later...and.. now.
********************


A few years back, I sat in a garage in Utica, NE with those two brothers and confessed much that had darkened my heart during those early years. I remember Carl telling me as I revealed it was me who ate that piece of chicken, that he had no recollection of that particular memory. He did not remember...but then, he didn't need to, he was innocent.

I was rebaptized in that Berean Church, just after my daughter was born, and walked a stronger Christian walk then I had after baptism at 13. Sermon and memory combinations were very pivital to my understanding of God. They still are. Though now I read the Bible more than I hear a sermon. Unless one wants to count the daily life sermons that, if I'm paying attention, spark a memory and then link a picture and lesson learned..or needing to learn!

So today I will remember. I will remember that Jesus took on all that I've done, do and will do. He also took on what Don had done, is doing and will do. Jesus suffered a beating from the guilty and He asked that I/we be forgiven for doing what He had not done. And then He remembers it no more...like Carl who, to me, seems to have forgiven me by not remembering.

I was haunted by much that Don did to myself and my brothers, especially Carl...but that's a story for another day. Now-a-days, there are moments when I digress into a black hole of whys, or like this, identifying the meaning of Good Friday with that Sunday Fried Chicken memory....and, yet, over the years I've discovered a patient God, Whom has blessed me with tools to transform myself, one day at a time. This God also taught me memories can heal and teach and not be so full of shadows. Today I will try to put to death the shadows and look forward to a rising hope that all will be forgiven, to a time of new beginnings.

TODAY I'LL TAKE A PICTURE THAT CAPTURES THE MEMORY THERE IN AND FREEZES TIME.

Time Out

Need to take a time out and learn some things. I'll be back!!!

Depression

What is depression?
Webster has several definitions but only two fit: sadness and gloom, a period of decline in business activity and employment.
I've known the sadness and gloom for most of my life but didn't understand it to be depression until I was in my mid twenties and even now in my mid fifties I still don't understand it's hold on me. Over the years I've learned some ways to lesson the impact of depression in my life but would welcome a miracle...since this seems to be one of our family quirks and a consequence of sorts. Yes, certain anti-depressants have helped but side effects are worse. Exercise is the best anti-depressant but the required discipline is lost in depressive episodes. I wish to improve my control on depression. I wish to be a miracle.
Sad though, we are now in a period of decline in business activity and employment and that has an added impact on the sadness and gloom known as depression. The battle is on. The attacks are coming from all sides. To survive, here too, one must believe in miracles.
What is a miracle?
Webster defines such as a supernatural act or effect.
Now does one wait for such an act or effect or are there steps to render depression of soul and life less destructive until a miracle is served?

WILL MY SHIP COME?

When I was but a girl,
This life was a very slow go.
Now what a whirl,
As an ole lady wanting to go slow!

What happened to me?
Why didn't I see it coming?
If I knew this that I now see,
Why am I not running?

Run where? is my first thought!
Isn't running why I'm here?
Also not choosing as I ought?
Wasting years in drugs and beer!

So many changes have come and gone,
Mature only in lessons learned,
A babe still in times choosing wrong,
Spurred to grow by the things I yearned!

Now yearning is stagnate,
Dreams are mostly deflated,
Nothing to want or rate,
Everything seems stalemated!

I don't want in or out,
Broken down and feeling old!
Still so poor and without,
Grateful for spouse's household.

Dark and dreary life seems now.
When did this curtain drop!
And when did the sun go out,
And my happy bubble popped?

Will this pass?
Oh don't tell me this is all!
Say this won't last,
And soon I'll hear the call!

If the call be a trumpet blast,
That would be most prized!
Or a ships port of call and sighted mast,
Full of blessings per that ships size!

Yes, when my ship comes in,
It will be a time of rest,
When all will be forgiven,
And no mountain waves to crest!

The sun will come out again,
Tears will bloom flowers,
And the curtain won't remain,
And the milk won't ever be sour.

Spirit will come on in power,
The past will be erased,
Life will be empowered,
And change will not disgrace!

Whew what a whirl!
An ole lady wanting to take it slow!
Seems just yesterday a little girl,
And this life was a very slow go.

A new day, and a Friday to boot! Grandson is napping and lunch is in the microwave for me. Edited this blog and visited a couple of blogs I enjoy. It's a chilly day and spring is on hold for a winter blizzard on the Colorado plains. Our Nebraska nook just got the cold wind and threat of snow...a teasing. Maybe snow this week-end?
Microwave is beeping. Oh I know, nuke the food and what evils may be introduced to this aging body?, but it's ease for a solitary meal and for left-overs is a habit hard to beat! So off to eat my Lean Cusine. Is that advertising? Can I get paid for it? :)

Surely I'm on the mend. Family thinks I should go see my doctor but I don't want to take any antibiotics....which I believe would be an unhealthy alternative to working this through. I've up't my vitamin C and am taking vitamin A til I heal. I'm finally trying to take a daily multi-vitamin, which I should have been taking regularly to date! Especially, since my eating habits aren't the best either. That too, I'm trying to revise....now that I'm sick. Why do I do that!! I make changes usually under pressure and its so frustrating! Taking care of myself should be an honor, but I tend to abuse myself...

Anyway, this is a cold day and I'm snug in Dad's chair with my lap top to post a note and Oprah on the tube. She's got a program on families getting cooking lessons. a way to survive this poor economy by cooking at home, HEALTHY, and reduce eating out or fast food costs, UNHEALTHY. I enjoy watching Martha, Ellen, and Oprah when I get the chance. Like most things in my life, I watch more than I do. I really want to change this. My grandmother and mother both spent their 50'-60's as couch potatoes with soaps & Bonanza for grandma and soaps and Martha and Oprah for my mom. Ellen is one program that both ladies would be shocked that I enjoy. Grandma left us when she was in her mid 70's after a few years in a nursing home. Mom now resides in a nursing home and with suspect, Alzheimer's/Dementia, she still watches her soaps and Oprah but is unable to tell us what the programs are about. Did becoming a couch potato bring on living in a nursing home or was...is it inevitable? Can I change the things about me that I detested in the self destruction I witnessed of Grandma and Mom, or am I a victum of genes!! So on this cold day, snug in Dad's chair, blogging while watching Oprah is already a bit of change....right?

Ok, as if I might ever have any blog followers... guess I'll end this session with an explanation of why my blog's Sam's Thots. My real name is Sandy....rather Sandra, then Sandy became norm. In fact, Grandma and Mom only called me Sandra when they were angry with me so I prefer Sandy. :) Anyway, during my 20's I had a circle of gal friends and we all began to call each other by the first three letters of our names. So Flossie, became Flo. Gloria became Glo. Colleen became Co (ok, so we used only 2 letters for her) Becky became Bec and so on. Well Sandy became San but often heard as Sam. Finally the nickname Sam stuck. I miss those younger years... and I'm rarely called Sam anymore and the only friend I'm in contact with on a regular basis is Co. Our friendship spans nearly 37 years now and we use to joke about how we would race each other in wheelchairs up and down the nursing home halls. It's not so funny now, huh Co?

I'm a Nebraska native who didn't appreciated my home state until these later years. Born and raised most of my life in Western Nebraska in the sandhills and from a family that many would rightly call, dysfunctional, but I consider, colorful. My family history has its own story but examples of our dysfunctions can be found everywhere in the world. My Mom married a few times so I have a combination of brothers and sisters, blood, half and step. Dad was not known to me until I reached my twenties and even then to now, I never have 'known' him. When I reflect on a Dad only Mom's fourth husband comes to heart! "Pete" was my Dad. Funny how being a blood father doesn't make one a DAD! (Same goes for the blood mother analogy) As my blog goes on, I'll probably reflect on some of my earlier experiences but for now...generalities.

I grew up, survived much and have found myself in my senior years. I honestly didn't think I'd make it this far. Many of my friends from the 60's-70's didn't and I sabatoged my own plans of escape several times to find life, now, a very blessed event, one day at a time. Life is an accumulation of experiences!

Well, enough for now. Sick with one heck of a cold and I feel a coughing spasm coming on.

So later...