On a recent drive from our family home in Virginia, I became extremely sleepy. Driving while sleepy is as dangerous as being drunk and is considered impaired driving. I knew I couldn’t keep going...something I wish drunk drivers would realize. Even as I was on the exit ramp I wasn’t in full control. I was on the ramp. My car was where it should be, but I was so very sleepy, I’d taken my foot off the accelerator and was at a crawl. When I realized what I was doing, I quickly looked to see if anyone was behind me. Thankfully, I was alone in my stupidity. I pulled into a busy parking area of the first gas station I saw, made sure my doors were locked, cracked my windows for a bit of air, then promptly fell asleep. About 45 minutes later, I awakened and felt refreshed.
I got out and walked around a bit to stretch, then went into the McDonald’s next door for a snack. An ice cream cone seemed like the perfect thing. I placed my order and the young lady at the register asked if it was “...for here or to go.” Hello? It’s an ice-cream cone!
Later on that question struck me as funny, so I posted it on my facebook page. Several good comments were made...
Greg: “Did they offer you a hot apple pie with that?”
Robyn: “Was she going to put it in a bag if it was ‘to go’?”
Kelly: “You should have told it it was to go and then when she handed it to you, you should have said, ‘oh, i’m sorry...i said that was to go...’”
Wes: “I will have a Caesar salad.” Cashier asked, “What kind of dressing on that sir?” Then Wes wrote...”Heeeere’s yer sign!”
Rick: “Oh, Beth. Have you not bought fast food for a while? In Ohio, it is taxed if eaten in the restaurant, and tax free if taken to go. Very likely wherever you were it is the same way.” (I was in East Tennessee, and I should know the tax laws here, but I must admit that I do not.)
Her question made me start to think about other stupid questions. Right here I should tell you that I wasn’t allowed to use the word ‘stupid’ when I was growing up. Mother would actually wash my mouth out with Dove Soap if she heard me say it. Dove is not very tasty.
But I digress...
Other ‘duh’ questions (how’s that, Mom?) that come to mind are things like the following:
Q: Where were you when you last saw your keys?
Duh: If I knew that I wouldn’t be looking for them right now.
Q: Do you remember where you laid your phone?
Duh: If I knew that I wouldn’t be looking for it right now.
Q: What time is the Midnight Christmas Eve Service going to start?
Duh: Duh!
I can speak fluent sarcasm, just so you know. In fact...it’s my second language.
But as much as stuff like that bugs me, I have been known to make the brilliant proclamation to someone who was looking for something they’d misplaced: “It’s always in the last place you look!”
Duh, Beth. Of course it is. Why would one keep looking when the lost has been found!??!?
All this reminds me of my mother...not because she was the Dove-mouth-washing-mother...but the funny mother. This was a woman who laughed at a joke three times. When you told it. When you explained it. And a few hours later when she’d get it.
Daddy never once called her a ding-bat...but he would sometimes smile and call her “Edith” of Edith-Bunker-All in the Family television show-fame. Mother was not stupid in the least, but sometimes things would zip over her head and we’d have to explain.
Come to think of it. I’m a bit like my mother in that regard.
I guess that’s why I was nearly home when I realized that cashier asked me if the ice cream cone was “for here or to go.” I’m a little slow on the uptake sometimes!
“If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”
Monday, March 18, 2013
Monday, January 28, 2013
We weren't finished...
4:00 Saturday morning, January 19, 2013:
I’m typing this blog from my sister’s room in the Intensive Care Unit of a Cincinnati hospital. I see six IV bags hanging from poles, numbers constantly changing on a monitor above her head, tubes...everywhere...and hear the constant puffing and whirring of a ventilator that is assisting her breathing. All this follows an emergency surgery for a ruptured bowel. Now her body is fighting septic shock, acute kidney failure, pneumonia, and any number of other things going on at the moment. Her doctor told us this morning that the prognosis is guarded. Guarded. Does that mean he doesn’t want to give us a hint of hope in the midst of this...or does it mean he’s trying to get us ready to lose her?
Earlier this week my sister and I decided it would be fun to sit and talk with each other on the phone while watching QVC. We’d been deciding what top would go best with a beautiful maxi-skirt she bought for me. We did ‘shop’ talk while the televisions were on mute, essentially providing our own commentary on the beautiful Susan Graver designs being shown.
9:00 Monday morning, January 28, 2013:
That last paragraph was typed just before I saw my sisters legs moving, and I walked over to check on her. Any movement seemed to indicate she was in pain, as she was sedated to allow the ventilator to breathe for her so her sick body could fight the infection. I stood next to her bed, holding her hand, talking with her. I told her that I saw her open her eyes and look at the nurses when they were working on her a couple of hours earlier and that I wanted her to open her eyes and look at me...just so I’d know she was ‘in there’ and she’d know I was with her. There was no attempt for her to squeeze my hand as I held hers, but I needed to know she knew I was there. I kept whispering in her ear that I needed her to look at me. Then she raised her eyebrows. I told her that wasn’t good enough...I wanted more. So she raised her brows and barely opened her right eye to see me. I was satisfied. She knew.
Many times over the course of the next two days, I would talk with her, reminisce, sing, joke, and talk some more...reassuring her of my love and that when she got out of the hospital, I’d be there to help look after her. One time, I sang the song she would request me to sing a number of times...”It is Well With My Soul” and prompted her when the alto part she’d always sing came by telling her “that’s your part.”
Over those days, more and more people arrived to support her sweet husband Gary...who I like to call “Favorite” because he’s my favorite red-headed brother-in-law. Vangie was well-loved and the steady stream of people - even in the middle of the night - gave witness to that. During those hours of waiting, Vangie had a massive heart attack - one I’m thankful she never felt pain from because she was so heavily sedated.
Without chronicling every single thing that went on during those next many hours, the decision was made by her husband (and lovingly supported by her siblings) that the ventilator should be cut off so she could move on to Heaven, a place she sang about and longed for many times. The nurse said it would be about ten or fifteen minutes before she’d draw her last breath. Well, Vangie got the last word - which was typical - and breathed on her own four and a half more hours. She was such a fighter for so many years through chronic illnesses that left her weak and at times, bedridden...that her little heart and lungs kept going until SHE was finished.
But I wasn’t finished with her. I never will be. My heart is broken. It will mend...but it will never be the same. She used to tell me I was her ‘other half’ and now half of me is missing. I am a woman of faith, so I know God will mend my broken heart and I will see her again. But for now, I can only say that I wasn’t finished with her yet...we had so many plans. We had a unique relationship. A closeness that some didn’t understand, others envied, but mostly one that our friends and family appreciated about us. I loved her so.
I always close my blogs with the same line...and now those words have taken on a whole new meaning. “If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”
My sisters life counted. About 600 people at her funeral was a real testimony to that. Originally we thought there were about 500 people until we talked with the guy who cleaned up the church afterward. He told us there were nearly 600!
Evangeline Ruth Miller Hughes was well loved, but most of all was in love with Jesus...and her husband. She was a witness for so long...even in her death.
Now let me remind you - as well as myself: “If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”
I’m typing this blog from my sister’s room in the Intensive Care Unit of a Cincinnati hospital. I see six IV bags hanging from poles, numbers constantly changing on a monitor above her head, tubes...everywhere...and hear the constant puffing and whirring of a ventilator that is assisting her breathing. All this follows an emergency surgery for a ruptured bowel. Now her body is fighting septic shock, acute kidney failure, pneumonia, and any number of other things going on at the moment. Her doctor told us this morning that the prognosis is guarded. Guarded. Does that mean he doesn’t want to give us a hint of hope in the midst of this...or does it mean he’s trying to get us ready to lose her?
Earlier this week my sister and I decided it would be fun to sit and talk with each other on the phone while watching QVC. We’d been deciding what top would go best with a beautiful maxi-skirt she bought for me. We did ‘shop’ talk while the televisions were on mute, essentially providing our own commentary on the beautiful Susan Graver designs being shown.
9:00 Monday morning, January 28, 2013:
That last paragraph was typed just before I saw my sisters legs moving, and I walked over to check on her. Any movement seemed to indicate she was in pain, as she was sedated to allow the ventilator to breathe for her so her sick body could fight the infection. I stood next to her bed, holding her hand, talking with her. I told her that I saw her open her eyes and look at the nurses when they were working on her a couple of hours earlier and that I wanted her to open her eyes and look at me...just so I’d know she was ‘in there’ and she’d know I was with her. There was no attempt for her to squeeze my hand as I held hers, but I needed to know she knew I was there. I kept whispering in her ear that I needed her to look at me. Then she raised her eyebrows. I told her that wasn’t good enough...I wanted more. So she raised her brows and barely opened her right eye to see me. I was satisfied. She knew.
Many times over the course of the next two days, I would talk with her, reminisce, sing, joke, and talk some more...reassuring her of my love and that when she got out of the hospital, I’d be there to help look after her. One time, I sang the song she would request me to sing a number of times...”It is Well With My Soul” and prompted her when the alto part she’d always sing came by telling her “that’s your part.”
Over those days, more and more people arrived to support her sweet husband Gary...who I like to call “Favorite” because he’s my favorite red-headed brother-in-law. Vangie was well-loved and the steady stream of people - even in the middle of the night - gave witness to that. During those hours of waiting, Vangie had a massive heart attack - one I’m thankful she never felt pain from because she was so heavily sedated.
Without chronicling every single thing that went on during those next many hours, the decision was made by her husband (and lovingly supported by her siblings) that the ventilator should be cut off so she could move on to Heaven, a place she sang about and longed for many times. The nurse said it would be about ten or fifteen minutes before she’d draw her last breath. Well, Vangie got the last word - which was typical - and breathed on her own four and a half more hours. She was such a fighter for so many years through chronic illnesses that left her weak and at times, bedridden...that her little heart and lungs kept going until SHE was finished.
But I wasn’t finished with her. I never will be. My heart is broken. It will mend...but it will never be the same. She used to tell me I was her ‘other half’ and now half of me is missing. I am a woman of faith, so I know God will mend my broken heart and I will see her again. But for now, I can only say that I wasn’t finished with her yet...we had so many plans. We had a unique relationship. A closeness that some didn’t understand, others envied, but mostly one that our friends and family appreciated about us. I loved her so.
I always close my blogs with the same line...and now those words have taken on a whole new meaning. “If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”
My sisters life counted. About 600 people at her funeral was a real testimony to that. Originally we thought there were about 500 people until we talked with the guy who cleaned up the church afterward. He told us there were nearly 600!
Evangeline Ruth Miller Hughes was well loved, but most of all was in love with Jesus...and her husband. She was a witness for so long...even in her death.
Now let me remind you - as well as myself: “If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!”
Thursday, December 27, 2012
The Greenhouse Effect
" You can do hard things."
...a phrase that has been repeated many times over in her 27 years of life. I cannot recall all the situations and circumstances that caused me to say those words to my beautiful daughter. But I’d like to think that the reason she is so adventurous and ready to accept challenges is that she believed what I told her. She believes in herself and the gifts and abilities God has placed in her life. She is married to a man who is also quite gifted. (They are a match that was covered in prayer from the day she was born.)
My daughter’s name is Hannah. She brightens up rooms when she arrives. Even though she is mine, believe me when I tell you that she is beautiful! When she smiles, her whole face smiles. Her laughter is contagious. She is very opinionated, stylish and quirky. Very quirky...and it is quite endearing! And she can do hard things.
Hannah is an Interactive Graphic Designer for Scripps. You can see her work on HGTV’s website mainly, but also on other Scripps sites. (She is also on Pinterest! Look for Hannah B. and see what she’s pinning.)
She is a designer. And an artist. I am convinced that all the colored pencils and sketch pads we invested in every time we took a road trip are paying off today.
A couple of years ago, I tried my hand at watercolor painting...a floral. I did a postcard sized pencil drawing, then used watercolors my cousin loaned me to complete it. After showing it to Hannah, she saw some possibility there. Next thing I knew, she bought paints, brushes and paper for me to experiment with. Time went by, the things were packed away but not forgotten.
This fall, I started thinking about a certain painting I’d like to try. I had plenty of time to think about it, but by the time I got around to doing it, there wasn’t much time to work.
But I did.
In pencil, I drew the picture that was in my head, then did the watercolor. It was a drawing of the house where Hannah and Andrew live and I was able to match up the colors on their house pretty closely. After the colors were finished, I did something unusual...I pulled out my ultra-fine point Sharpie pen, used very small print and wrote their love story all around the outline of their house. It was written in chronological order with their wedding date and details on the front steps. Looking at it from a distance you can't tell that there are words printed there. I framed it and shared it with them on Christmas night.
They liked it.
Hannah cried as she read it. (I guess that’s a good sign...)
When she came over to me with a huge hug, I told her that she was the reason I tried it. She was the one who saw some potential and bought those art supplies for me. I thanked her for that.
As Hannah let go from the hug, she said something quite familiar...”Momma, you can do hard things.”
I’m glad she told me that. She learned to do new things...hard things...exciting things. And I guess I have, too. Lots of times when I’ve stepped outside my comfort zone, my knees were applauding my bravery.
Well, my knees didn’t beat each other to death on this project. In fact, I rather enjoyed it.
Guess I need to be less nervous and learn to ‘practice what I preach‘ because I really can do hard things.
So can you.
If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Monday, November 19, 2012
Joys and Concerns
Have you ever been in a church service where there is a place in the bulletin for the “Sharing of Joys and Concerns?” A lot of churches that have moved to a less formal order of worship will use this time for congregants to share good news (joys) and prayer requests (concerns). I was in such a church on Sunday morning. Needing to use the restroom, I slipped out during the time of greeting one another at the very start of the service and returned during the sharing of joys and concerns.
I had no joys or concerns to share when I went to the ladies’ room...only that I needed to get there fairly soon after downing a 32-ounce Diet Dr. Pepper before my arrival at church that morning. That was a concern that turned into a joy. But when I completed my ‘task’ and flushed...I became quite concerned. That toilet would NOT stop flushing! It wasn’t running over (my other concern, especially while using someone else’s restroom) but it was continually flushing with this great amount of water pressure! I’m not kidding. It went on and on while I washed and dried my hands. I stood there waiting for it to stop but it didn’t. Thinking the handle was stuck, I tried to un-stick it. Nope. That didn’t stop the flow. I pulled the handle in the opposite direction. That didn’t work. Finally, I resigned myself to find someone to check the toilet, but everyone was in the sanctuary.
Lots of joys and concerns that morning...
As I came back into the sanctuary, people were being mentioned with severe health problems, tough situations, and many joys, too.
I decided this was a definite concern. The utility bill for the church was going to be atrocious if that water kept gushing through the pipes. And, as a good steward of God’s resources - water and money - I finally raised my hand for the pastor to allow me to share.
Yes, I did that.
I shared my joy of being there as a musical guest in their church, and then my concern: “The toilet in the ladies’ restroom is still flushing! I’m concerned!”
The congregation and choir began laughing! Several females in the choir loft let me know that the toilet in question always “over-flushes” and assured me it would quit momentarily.
Boy...I was relieved after I was relieved! (insert smile here)
If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!
I had no joys or concerns to share when I went to the ladies’ room...only that I needed to get there fairly soon after downing a 32-ounce Diet Dr. Pepper before my arrival at church that morning. That was a concern that turned into a joy. But when I completed my ‘task’ and flushed...I became quite concerned. That toilet would NOT stop flushing! It wasn’t running over (my other concern, especially while using someone else’s restroom) but it was continually flushing with this great amount of water pressure! I’m not kidding. It went on and on while I washed and dried my hands. I stood there waiting for it to stop but it didn’t. Thinking the handle was stuck, I tried to un-stick it. Nope. That didn’t stop the flow. I pulled the handle in the opposite direction. That didn’t work. Finally, I resigned myself to find someone to check the toilet, but everyone was in the sanctuary.
Lots of joys and concerns that morning...
As I came back into the sanctuary, people were being mentioned with severe health problems, tough situations, and many joys, too.
I decided this was a definite concern. The utility bill for the church was going to be atrocious if that water kept gushing through the pipes. And, as a good steward of God’s resources - water and money - I finally raised my hand for the pastor to allow me to share.
Yes, I did that.
I shared my joy of being there as a musical guest in their church, and then my concern: “The toilet in the ladies’ restroom is still flushing! I’m concerned!”
The congregation and choir began laughing! Several females in the choir loft let me know that the toilet in question always “over-flushes” and assured me it would quit momentarily.
Boy...I was relieved after I was relieved! (insert smile here)
If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Too fast for me...
The other day, I stopped at a hotel to use the restroom on my way from Tennessee to Ohio.
Yes...a hotel.
I started using hotel restrooms when I was potty-training my daughter because they are usually very clean. Years later, I still use hotel restrooms for the very same reason.
Sometimes there are paper seat covers provided above the toilet. I always pull those things apart so that when I put the cover in its proper place, the center drops into the water and it can be flushed away when I’m finished with nature’s call. Always nice to have that added little bit of protection since my mother taught me that I should never, never, ever sit on a naked toilet seat.
All that is fine as long as the “eye” (that tells the toilet when to flush) isn't too quick on the draw. My exasperation came when I would place the seat cover and turn around to sit on it only to hear the big flush before I could accomplish what I came for!
Wait! I didn’t even get to sit down!!!
So I placed another cover on the seat...turned around again and “flush!” It happened again!
Third time’s a charm, they say (whoever ‘they’ are) so I made my third attempt on the task at hand. And for the third time, it happened! Premature flushing.
I felt like that poor, hapless Charlie Chaplin in one of his movies...or Lucille Ball...or maybe I was on Candid Camera! No. I knew better than that. And there was no one else involved in this situation so I knew that it wouldn’t be an episode of ABC’s show “What Would You Do?” John Quinones wouldn’t be lurking outside the stall.
So, I gave it ONE MORE TRY. I got myself ‘ready’ so that when the cover was in place I could drop down quickly and beat the flush!
Didn’t make it.
Mother, I sat on a bare-naked toilet seat. I knew better, but the flusher had me beat.
(Hey...that rhymes!)
I always close my blog postings with this thought:
If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Yes...a hotel.
I started using hotel restrooms when I was potty-training my daughter because they are usually very clean. Years later, I still use hotel restrooms for the very same reason.
Sometimes there are paper seat covers provided above the toilet. I always pull those things apart so that when I put the cover in its proper place, the center drops into the water and it can be flushed away when I’m finished with nature’s call. Always nice to have that added little bit of protection since my mother taught me that I should never, never, ever sit on a naked toilet seat.
All that is fine as long as the “eye” (that tells the toilet when to flush) isn't too quick on the draw. My exasperation came when I would place the seat cover and turn around to sit on it only to hear the big flush before I could accomplish what I came for!
Wait! I didn’t even get to sit down!!!
So I placed another cover on the seat...turned around again and “flush!” It happened again!
Third time’s a charm, they say (whoever ‘they’ are) so I made my third attempt on the task at hand. And for the third time, it happened! Premature flushing.
I felt like that poor, hapless Charlie Chaplin in one of his movies...or Lucille Ball...or maybe I was on Candid Camera! No. I knew better than that. And there was no one else involved in this situation so I knew that it wouldn’t be an episode of ABC’s show “What Would You Do?” John Quinones wouldn’t be lurking outside the stall.
So, I gave it ONE MORE TRY. I got myself ‘ready’ so that when the cover was in place I could drop down quickly and beat the flush!
Didn’t make it.
Mother, I sat on a bare-naked toilet seat. I knew better, but the flusher had me beat.
(Hey...that rhymes!)
I always close my blog postings with this thought:
If you have a pulse, then you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Saturday, October 6, 2012
More Dobie Tales (not tails)
I’m writing this blog entry while in our Virginia home. My husband and I have the family home, the house we will likely retire to someday...in a little coal-mining town called Appalachia, Virginia. Yes, there is an area called Appalachia, but there is also a town by that name where my hubby was born and raised.
The Greens moved into this house in 1950, when Joe was just eight months old. His oldest brother was born in 1937 and one more Green was added to the family in 1960 bringing the grand total of seven children for Roy and Mary Ruth. In fact, the last child was born on Mary Ruth’s 45th birthday. And he was not a surprise baby either! Some folks call them “uh-ohs” or “surprise blessings” but David was planned. Roy asked Mary Ruth one day if she missed having a little one around the house (Joe was 10 years old by this time) and she said she did.
“Why don’t we have just one more?”
“Alright,” said Mary Ruth and next thing you know...David was on his way! His arrival came a little too early and he struggled those first months. But all the while, his mother ‘kept the faith’ and Dave grew to be a strong and healthy member of the Green clan. He is now one of seven undertakers in the family, with the latest one being the fourth generation in the funeral business.
Joe and his oldest brother are ordained United Methodist ministers, so you could say the Greens are a ‘full-service family.’ They can marry ‘em and bury ‘em!!!
My hubby tells people that the hardest thing I had to get used to when we married was learning to sleep in a bed with a lid on it. (Remember that this is the same man who proposed to me in a cemetery, asking me if I’d like to be buried in the family plot!) His daddy saw me putting my makeup on by the light of the kitchen window one day and told me if I handed him my brushes and laid out on the kitchen table he could make me look really natural...just like I was asleep! He was a funny guy so his son comes by his humor honestly.
Back to the house...
We inherited this wonderful old place after Joe’s mother went to heaven in 2009. I think the house was built around 1920...big brick structure with two floors, a full basement and wonderful old attic that is fun to explore. The house has good bones. After the rest of the children got the furniture and things out that they wanted, Joe and I began to move many of our things into the place. It is really special to sit in the living room and look around. Some of the furniture that I inherited from my mother and daddy is mingled in with his parents’ furniture. It gives me a warm feeling to see it all together like that...kind of like the two of us!
When the family gathers here now, it is so meaningful to Joe and me because this is what his parents enjoyed...having a house filled with family, lots of activity, laughter and music.
The only one in ‘our family’ who doesn’t seem to feel content here is our dog, Dobie. When we come up once every thirty days to spend a night here for insurance purposes, he usually travels along. He’ll follow us around as if he thinks we’re going to suddenly leave him here. It’s kind of the way he acted when we first moved into our new home in Cleveland, Tennessee but he finally became contented there. Here...not so much.
It’s almost 3:00 in the morning as I’m writing this. I fell asleep around 10:30 last night and slept soundly until about an hour ago. My sleep patterns have been that way of late. Sure hope this stage passes soon because I enjoy a good night’s sleep and miss having them!
Dobie seemed to know that I was awake and moved around on his chair, rearranging the blanket he is now comfortably curled into. But not long after I awakened, I sent him into a frenzy of ‘poodle proportions!’ All I had to do was mention two magic words in the form of a question.
“Go outside?”
Suddenly he did his little routine that he does each time the question is asked, which is licking his lips...running around in circles...and yipping. Sometimes he cuts such a shine, running in circles even on top of us, that we can’t stop laughing! And we’ll let him go on and on and on, which is kind of mean on our part because he probably really needs to GO!
Why does he lick his lips when he’s going out to do his ‘business?’
I don’t do that.
Joe doesn’t do that.
Do you?
Dobie does it because he knows that when the deed is done, he will get a treat! And he’ll launch into the routine again after he is finished with the job until he gets it.
No one ever gives me a treat when I do my business. If they did...trust me, I’d be bigger than I am now because I do my business a LOT!
Dobie is crate trained thanks to our son-in-law, who suggested it when we purchased the poodle. Best idea ever! (Andrew's had other good ideas since then, too.) But the other night, the pooch brought a whole new meaning to the term ‘crate trained.’
Our coffee table is an old chicken crate. My father thought that was a really dumb idea when I was out in the driveway scrubbing the feathers and other stuff out of it. But even he admitted it was a cool idea after seeing it in front of our sofa.
It’s filled with character now...water spots, scratches (that blend in with the ones that were already there) and crayon marks. I smile almost every time I notice them because my little girl (who is now a graphic designer for HGTV) put them there while diligently coloring in one of her coloring books or sketch books.
There are two places in the crate where ‘rungs’ are missing (...those posts that are in place to keep the chickens in place). Well somehow, Dobie squeezed himself in thru one of them the other night. Joe and I were looking around calling him and he wasn’t coming to us. We didn’t see him right away but heard this little pigeon-type noise coming from the crate. Yes, he makes a pigeon sound. Strange for a dog, I know...but look who is owners are! Looking down, there was this pitiful poodle laying in the chicken crate with no hope of escape. We tried coaxing him out by putting our hands next to the spaces where he’d obviously gotten in through. He wouldn’t budge. Finally, Joe brought a treat to the crate. Dobie began going around in circles and licking his lips right then and there before convincing himself that a treat was worth the risk of squeezing through his tight spot.
Even in the chicken crate he did his little routine!
That night Dobie brought a whole new meaning to the term being ‘crated trained!’
Remember...if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
The Greens moved into this house in 1950, when Joe was just eight months old. His oldest brother was born in 1937 and one more Green was added to the family in 1960 bringing the grand total of seven children for Roy and Mary Ruth. In fact, the last child was born on Mary Ruth’s 45th birthday. And he was not a surprise baby either! Some folks call them “uh-ohs” or “surprise blessings” but David was planned. Roy asked Mary Ruth one day if she missed having a little one around the house (Joe was 10 years old by this time) and she said she did.
“Why don’t we have just one more?”
“Alright,” said Mary Ruth and next thing you know...David was on his way! His arrival came a little too early and he struggled those first months. But all the while, his mother ‘kept the faith’ and Dave grew to be a strong and healthy member of the Green clan. He is now one of seven undertakers in the family, with the latest one being the fourth generation in the funeral business.
Joe and his oldest brother are ordained United Methodist ministers, so you could say the Greens are a ‘full-service family.’ They can marry ‘em and bury ‘em!!!
My hubby tells people that the hardest thing I had to get used to when we married was learning to sleep in a bed with a lid on it. (Remember that this is the same man who proposed to me in a cemetery, asking me if I’d like to be buried in the family plot!) His daddy saw me putting my makeup on by the light of the kitchen window one day and told me if I handed him my brushes and laid out on the kitchen table he could make me look really natural...just like I was asleep! He was a funny guy so his son comes by his humor honestly.
Back to the house...
We inherited this wonderful old place after Joe’s mother went to heaven in 2009. I think the house was built around 1920...big brick structure with two floors, a full basement and wonderful old attic that is fun to explore. The house has good bones. After the rest of the children got the furniture and things out that they wanted, Joe and I began to move many of our things into the place. It is really special to sit in the living room and look around. Some of the furniture that I inherited from my mother and daddy is mingled in with his parents’ furniture. It gives me a warm feeling to see it all together like that...kind of like the two of us!
When the family gathers here now, it is so meaningful to Joe and me because this is what his parents enjoyed...having a house filled with family, lots of activity, laughter and music.
The only one in ‘our family’ who doesn’t seem to feel content here is our dog, Dobie. When we come up once every thirty days to spend a night here for insurance purposes, he usually travels along. He’ll follow us around as if he thinks we’re going to suddenly leave him here. It’s kind of the way he acted when we first moved into our new home in Cleveland, Tennessee but he finally became contented there. Here...not so much.
It’s almost 3:00 in the morning as I’m writing this. I fell asleep around 10:30 last night and slept soundly until about an hour ago. My sleep patterns have been that way of late. Sure hope this stage passes soon because I enjoy a good night’s sleep and miss having them!
Dobie seemed to know that I was awake and moved around on his chair, rearranging the blanket he is now comfortably curled into. But not long after I awakened, I sent him into a frenzy of ‘poodle proportions!’ All I had to do was mention two magic words in the form of a question.
“Go outside?”
Suddenly he did his little routine that he does each time the question is asked, which is licking his lips...running around in circles...and yipping. Sometimes he cuts such a shine, running in circles even on top of us, that we can’t stop laughing! And we’ll let him go on and on and on, which is kind of mean on our part because he probably really needs to GO!
Why does he lick his lips when he’s going out to do his ‘business?’
I don’t do that.
Joe doesn’t do that.
Do you?
Dobie does it because he knows that when the deed is done, he will get a treat! And he’ll launch into the routine again after he is finished with the job until he gets it.
No one ever gives me a treat when I do my business. If they did...trust me, I’d be bigger than I am now because I do my business a LOT!
Dobie is crate trained thanks to our son-in-law, who suggested it when we purchased the poodle. Best idea ever! (Andrew's had other good ideas since then, too.) But the other night, the pooch brought a whole new meaning to the term ‘crate trained.’
Our coffee table is an old chicken crate. My father thought that was a really dumb idea when I was out in the driveway scrubbing the feathers and other stuff out of it. But even he admitted it was a cool idea after seeing it in front of our sofa.
It’s filled with character now...water spots, scratches (that blend in with the ones that were already there) and crayon marks. I smile almost every time I notice them because my little girl (who is now a graphic designer for HGTV) put them there while diligently coloring in one of her coloring books or sketch books.
There are two places in the crate where ‘rungs’ are missing (...those posts that are in place to keep the chickens in place). Well somehow, Dobie squeezed himself in thru one of them the other night. Joe and I were looking around calling him and he wasn’t coming to us. We didn’t see him right away but heard this little pigeon-type noise coming from the crate. Yes, he makes a pigeon sound. Strange for a dog, I know...but look who is owners are! Looking down, there was this pitiful poodle laying in the chicken crate with no hope of escape. We tried coaxing him out by putting our hands next to the spaces where he’d obviously gotten in through. He wouldn’t budge. Finally, Joe brought a treat to the crate. Dobie began going around in circles and licking his lips right then and there before convincing himself that a treat was worth the risk of squeezing through his tight spot.
Even in the chicken crate he did his little routine!
That night Dobie brought a whole new meaning to the term being ‘crated trained!’
Remember...if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Beth's Big Adventure
Last week my hubby and I spent time at Lake Junaluska, North Carolina participating in an orientation for new District Superintendents (DS) and Directors of Connectional Ministries (DCM). As the men and women, new in their positions attended their sessions, the spouses in attendance also had sessions. I made some wonderful new friends and got to spend time with one of my favorite people and an old friend...Vicki...who is a ‘newbie’ like me! (And no, she isn’t old...I could have been her babysitter back in the day. We’ve been friends a long time.) Vicki’s husband is the new DS for the Knoxville District in our United Methodist Conference. My Joe is the new DS for Cleveland District, so she and I are embarking on an adventure as ‘Cabinet Wives’ and I’m thankful we’re learning this together. One evening, waiting for our husbands’ return from a meeting, we parked ourselves on a sofa across the hall from the main elevators...and had WAY too much fun, laughing, talking and laughing some more! In fact, we had so much fun that we totally missed our husbands and they were back in the rooms wondering where we were! Nathan texted Vicki, asking where she was and she replied that she was safe...with me. She may have been safe, but I’m not sure I’m the ‘safest’ person to be with. After all, I attract danger.
Yes. Danger.
Not like “Castle” or “NCIS” danger.
Not “James Bond” danger.
Think more like Alfred Hitchcock danger. Yep. That’s it. Hitchcock...as in “The Birds” with Tippi Hedron.
Here’s the story:
It was a dark and stormy night....
Just kidding.
It all began on a sunny Sunday afternoon as Beth joined her handsome husband on a mission to buy an ice pack and a heating pad. His silver hair caught the glint of the sun as they walked across the Walmart parking lot. She felt warm and comfortable as she strode beside Joe...admiring his handsome, strong profile and sure step next to her pitiful limp because her knee had a catch in it and she was unable to straighten her leg.
Okay, that’s enough of my ‘creative writing.’ We both know it wasn’t very good. Although I liked the description of Joe’s profile. He has a nice profile.
Actually, Joe dropped me off at the entrance because of my hurting knee...something that has plagued me off and on for more than 45 years because of an injury in school. I chose and paid for the needed items to relieve my pain. As I walked out to the parking area, Joe met me, saying there was a falcon sitting on a car near where he’d parked. As we walked in that direction, there were two police cars nearby and the officers, along with several people watching a falcon that was sitting on the roof of a van. The van’s owner had called 9-1-1 because she was afraid to attempt entering her vehicle.
Several bystanders...including me...began taking pictures of the falcon with our cell phones, being careful not to get too close. I made a little clicking sound with my tongue in an attempt to get the raptor to look my way. It did. I took another picture, then it flew down from the van roof to the blacktop of the parking lot. Still keeping a good distance, I took two more pictures. All of a sudden that falcon came after me...flapping it’s huge wings and digging it’s sharp talons into my pant leg!!!
I screamed! And I stood there screaming and shaking my leg (the one with the bum knee) trying to get this creature to let go of my pants! I was too stunned to run until some woman in a car yelled, “Run, lady, run!” (No, Forrest Gump did NOT come to mind.) So I ran, shaking my leg and it let go. Thinking back on it now, I probably looked like I was running with a loaded diaper!
Thankfully, the falcon’s talons did not get my leg...only my slacks. I stood there once it let go, trying to gather my senses, and as I turned to walk away, I heard my husband calling, “Beth! Look out!”
That blasted falcon had me again!
Same pant leg...and this time it had a more ‘fixed’ hold, flapping it’s wings and holding on. I was running, screaming, shaking my leg and crying all at the same time! It seemed like an eternity that I was running and screaming, but it was probably only about ten or fifteen seconds. I was terrified! Running in circles! Screaming again! Once the falcon let go, I never stopped running and then I began screaming, “Unlock the car! Unlock the car!”
Joe yelled, “What?!?”
“U N L O C K T H E C A R ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !”
I jumped inside the safety of our CRV, shaking and crying. Joe quickly followed me. He kept asking if I was okay. I kept telling him to DRIVE...as if that falcon would peck it’s way through the vehicle and come after me again (because Alfred Hitchcock would have wanted it that way).
Five miles’ drive and we were back at our hotel. I will still shaken. My whole body was shaking. I could barely step out of the car. Once inside the safety of our room, I took time to check myself. My leg was unscathed. Then and now I will say, “Thanks be to God!”
My slacks, on the other hand, didn’t fare so well. There were several little holes where the falcon’s talons had been clinging. Brand new slacks! I’d only worn them twice! And they were from my favorite store, C.J. Banks...they had been on sale...and most important of all, they fit my bum really well. And now they have puncture marks.
I guess I should go ahead and wear them, just so I can make interesting conversation.
Or I could just be really cheesy and say they’re my ‘church pants’ because they are ‘holey.’
Alfred Hitchcock never would have closed with a line like that.
Remember...if you have a pulse, you have a purpose. Make your life count!
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