Silence---This and the Other

 

 

On this particular evening—
Silence is a warm fleece blanket that has just come out of the clothes dryer on a cold night.
Silence is a popping flame in a fire pit while listening to Nat King Cole’s “Christmas Story”
This Silence is an ooey-gooey marshmallow and Hershey’s bar on a s’more.
This Silence is a friend I have not seen in a long while, and while I melt into his arms, I find myself home.
He is a baby snoring peacefully on my chest.
This Silence is a toe dipped in warm tub water after a long day.
This Silence is as welcome as the sight of a young child running to see his mom at the end of a day.

I long for This Silence.
I find myself in This Silence.
I play hide and seek with This Silence, deliberately seeking him out,
Turning off the television, the noise of the world.
And when I find him, I put my head on his chest, and feel his warm arm around my shoulders.
Peace.

This Silence reminds me of my best self, my strengths, my value in the world.
This Silence whispers affirmations in my ear,
He makes me feel like I am capable of almost anything.
I cuddle up with This Silence and never want him to leave.

BUT

This Silence has a twin,
A mirror character,
A foil,
A monster under the bed,
A dark shadow hiding in the closet.
And this Other Silence appears when I least expect him.

This Other Silence laughs like a middle school bully,
This Other Silence screams at me,
Cackles at me with teasing reminders of my aloneness,
Taunts me with past betrayals,
Berates me for past  mistakes,
Whispers to me of lost relationships, blaming me,
His voice is the sound of a wind howling outside on a moonless night.  

He lands his laser focus on the empty chair,
the hopes and dreams that are unfulfilled,
the missing voices of my children,
the pictures of those who have gone on,
the silent phone,
the empty email box and mail box.

The noise is deafening in this Other Silence.

This Other Silence taps me on the shoulder with lost touches.
He tears at my clothes, rips off the blanket on my lap,
Exposing my skin, raising chill bumps from the back of my neck to my toes.
He rips the pages from the books that carry me to other worlds,
And hands me back a blank cover, saying that there is no escape.
He closes the blinds and turns out the lights.
He blows the candle flame out—-and leaves me no opportunity to wish.

He magnifies the echoes of my voice,
As I desperately try to fill the space left.
He traces my skin with his fingers at least an inch above my body,
Making me almost beg for touch,
For communion, for another,
And then disappears in a poof of air.

He leaves me bare and naked, shivering vulnerable beneath his interrogation lamp.
He leaves me the audio recording of every horrible thing ever said to me,
Even providing me headphones so I can hear better.
This Other Silence lies, as he shows me the evidence of my aloneness,
Convincing me that I must confess, I must break.
No one can save me.
It is all my fault.
It is just me.
Alone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It would be so easy to agree with this Other Silence.
He is so convincing.

It would be so easy to give up, to take the blame, to sit there shivering.
But each time
This Other Silence comes out of hiding,
Each time he creeps and snarls from under my bed,
Each time this Other Silence leaves me bare and naked,
I somehow get up.

Sometimes, in this nakedness,
I pick up the pen and the blank paper,
And scratch some words in black ink,
Revealing my nakedness for all to see,
Hoping that in this vulnerability, someone else will know they are not alone,
Finding the universality of our human experience.

Other times, when this Other Silence leaves me bare and naked,
I get on my hands and knees and gather the scraps of clothing torn from me,
And find the thread and needle
And sit, surrounded by images of my family,
Surrounded by memories of happy moments with friends,
And I sew.
I mend the holes.
I refashion the old scraps.
I make myself a new outfit that fits the new self.

While I sew, I begin to sway.
I tap, tap, tap my toes.
I move my lips to a song hidden within.

This Other Silence slinks away with my music.
I am ready to dance.
Watch me.

The Snuggle Inn---Snuggle up OR smuggle out!

 

Long before the internet, Yelp reviews, and social media, my mom would do intense research through AAA trip planners and through the Yellow Books Mom brought home from North Carolina.  We typically stayed at the same places when we vacationed in NC, but occasionally, events would transpire where we had to pick a new accommodation.  

Mom called and made reservations for the Snuggle Inn in Maggie Valley, just west of Asheville along the western border almost into Tennessee.  We knew the location, and we anxiously anticipated our winter vacation by packing all our winter gear, hoping for snow on Christmas.  Dad and I packed the tiny VW Rabbit, filling it to the roof inside with everything the four of us might need in a week’s time.  

So much excitement filled the car.  We spent our time on the trip singing songs, playing road games, and reading The Best Christmas Pageant Ever aloud.  Kelly and I, I am sure, fought over space in the tiny back seat.  I am sure Nancy Drew accompanied me, as I rarely went anywhere without her beside me in those days.

When we opened the front door of our small studio apartment, what awaited us was nothing close to the expectations.  The bedroom with the full-sized bed Kelly and I would share was so small we had to walk sideways to get around the bed.  The room was perhaps 1 foot bigger than the bed on all 3 sides.   There was no dresser or closet.  The bathroom was only a bit bigger than an airplane bathroom, and the living room proudly hosted the location of the pull-out sofa bed and the 4-person dining room table that wobbled so badly it took wads of napkins under a leg to make it steady enough to put our belongings on it.  To open that sofa bed, the dining room table would have to be moved into the open kitchen area, making the kitchen unusable.

Worse yet, the heat had been on before we arrived, and yet, the room was so cold we could see our breath puffing out in dragon breaths before our faces.  Kelly and I sat in our winter coats with a blanket over us, and when Mom and Dad surveyed the scene before them, they asked if we were going to make it—-and with chattering teeth, Kelly and I made all efforts to say yes.  Laughing, we talked about where our suitcases would go—-and we realized it was too cold to shower in the little apartment, so we would store suitcases in the shower.

After about three hours, Mom and Dad made the executive decision that there had to be something better.   We hopped in the car and drove down the road, checking with various hotels until we found a much better accommodation that was about 3 times as big and warm as could be.  As we packed our VW Rabbit again and headed to the new place, we laughed about the Snuggle Inn where guests have to snuggle up to stay warm—or decide to smuggle out.  Snuggle Inn provided giggles for years as we passed by.

* * * * * * * * * * *

No, it is not all that exciting of a story.  It all turned out fine.  No one was hurt, and I don’t believe we even lost any money in the situation.  However, it taught me an important lesson about expectations.  

Sometimes, as Robert Burns wrote,  “The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft a-gley”----or translated into an English we understand:  “The best-laid schemes of mice and men oft go awry.”  Mom had done nothing wrong with her planning.  Life just happened.

As the year 2023 comes to a close, I can promise you that this year did not turn out as anticipated for me.  It didn’t turn out as expected for many of my friends—for the friend who was attacked in the parking lot of his apartment complex and now has vision issues and PTSD, for a  friend my age whose husband died last fall and whose mother died a few weeks ago, for the friend who left her abusive husband after 35 years, or for the friend who just got diagnosed with cancer.  

Many of us have had a Snuggle Inn year.  Big plans and dreams, big hopes and expectations, excitement and joy have all been switched out for wobbly tables and unlivable circumstances.  

What happens when we are faced with a situation so different than the one expected or planned for?  What happens if the expectations have fallen apart because of someone’s deliberate actions or inactions?  What happens when those we count on fail to “show up” and fail to provide support?  How do we live with unfulfilled expectations?

I don’t have all the answers, but Snuggle Inn taught me a few lessons, including:

• The best-laid plans do not always work out.  Realizing this keeps me from blaming myself for not predicting the future.  Life happens—and the outcome is not always fair.

• A friend of mine shared this line with me to explain how she deals with humans who don’t live up to expectations:  “Expectations are premeditated resentments.”  It doesn’t mean we can let people walk all over us or that we should have no expectations at all, but often, we expect more out of people than they ever offer to provide—-or more than they can provide.
  

• Pretending that the “Snuggle Inn” is the Ritz  does not help anyone.  It is not necessary to lie with chattering teeth and say that everything is great.  It isn’t.  Be honest with yourself.  When the kids disappoint us or the doctor’s phone call is scary, it is okay to not be okay.  When you are in a Snuggle Inn situation, one important key is to admit the truth to yourself.
  

•  Staying in the “Snuggle Inns” of life if there are alternatives should not be the expectation either.  If the job or the situation is toxic or unhealthy, “smuggle out.”  (However, don’t expect everyone to understand why you are smuggling out.  No one knows the reality better than you do.)
  

•  The Snuggle Inns of life can teach us great lessons.  Those moments provide us the fodder for great laughs later on (or sometimes much later on).  OR if no laughs are available, they provide tales that then help others later on with their own Snuggle Inn situations.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

It is so easy after being in a Snuggle Inn situation to give up dreaming for something better.  It is hard to experience the heartbreak from such disappointment.  However, without a dream, without a continued desire for “adventure,” it would be easy to just settle with the bitter cold of the Snuggle Inn situation.   There is so much better out there—just down the road.

May we all find ways to smuggle out of our 2023 Snuggle Inns and find a new adventure awaiting us.   If you need someone to help you “smuggle out” or to at least share in the laughs or the tears, I am here.

Kim

Christmas Letter 2023--Spices of Life

 

Christmas 2023

We all know the story of the three men who came searching for the King, following a star with their precious gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Yes, gold is and was valuable, but since myrrh and frankincense were used in perfumes, they were equally valuable commodities then.

How fitting, then, that the “perfumes” of Christmas are some of the most powerful. My mom and grandma were big believers in multiple pies, cookies, treats, and desserts. The smells and flavors of cinnamon, sugar, apple, nutmeg, and vanilla fill my mind when I think of December.

This year has been a year of new flavors, of new smells, of new experiences. Not all the flavors and perfumes have been sweet or savory. Many were bitter and sour.

If you are not aware, my husband, Anthony disappeared on December 15, 2022; without any idea of where he was or how to reach him, I spent 3.5 weeks wondering what had happened. Christmas and New Year’s were spent alone, living with worry and concern and a broken heart. Police arrived on January 4 to give me notice. No cause of death has been determined.

* * * * * * * * * * *

As you can imagine, life lost much of its spice and flavor this past year. Life still moved forward, but much of this spring was spent in a blur. I taught my classes, and I worked at home going through items and figuring out life again at age 53. Trips to the grocery store---something Anthony and I did together—brought on panic attacks. Days alternated between feelings I might survive this only to be followed by days filled with wails and screams. Anger, grief, guilt, self-doubt, sadness, terror---all were some of the flavors of life in 2023.

Some of the other, less painful perfumes of life in 2023 involved the sweet enfolding arms of my oldest son, Andy, who hugged on his mom while I sobbed. He is living in Reno, Nevada, dedicating many more than 40 hours a week to his job as Director of New Projects at Tesla. He is camping beside mountain rivers, snowboarding at Tahoe, and loving the area around Reno.

Another sweet perfume of life was having Jonathan volunteer to help me with house projects that were too much for just me. Jonathan’s humor and passion for life were contagious; his tender heart was a salve to mine. He is finishing his senior year at Baylor University, majoring in environmental science. He is still passionate about the oceans and conservation.

Some flavors and spices this year were bitter---the loss of close friends of Anthony and me who abandoned me when grief was too much for them to bear. Some flavors were distasteful, such as making life decisions for my future by myself.

Some flavors were surprising---friends who stood in the gap for me, who held me up when I could not move forward, who checked on me when I had 2 weeks of COVID, who met me where I was for lunch or for driveway talks. I owe these people everything.

Some moments were challenging as I decided to accept the position of department chair of English and Foreign Languages at Temple College at a moment when I was not sure I was able. I am still teaching, but I enjoy my time mentoring and encouraging other faculty members. “My work family” is so loving and supportive.

Some sweet-flavored moments included me singing in the rain in my back yard a month ago, watching my 3 dogs chase the ball in the yard, laughing with my sister-in-law this summer as both of us were covered in blue cake icing, and cheering on my favorite teams in football and basketball. This year saw me in some of my strongest moments and some of my weakest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

When I met Anthony fifteen years ago, his personality was full of flavor. He was larger than life, and he lit up a room with a new energy. Each room in my house is a bit emptier without him.

Fifteen years ago, he introduced me to mixing spices to create homemade rubs. We spent hours over the years creating our own rubs, and he would use these to create treasures on the grill. The rubs and spices only enhanced the true flavors of the meat. Their purpose was not to overpower the original taste. They were to take the truth and bring it to the surface.

Right now, as I face the first of many anniversaries I never dreamed of facing at this stage in my life, I am looking for new recipes for life. I am looking for ways to mix the bitter and sour with the sweet.

I am hoping to mix, fold, and blend them into a new concoction.

I am searching just as the Magi did. I am searching for a new path, a new direction, and a new way to face this new life.

Much as the Magi, I am on new territory, and no one can really give me directions.


May you join me on my journey in 2024 to discover the new flavors available in life, the new ways you can be used to spread flavor among those around you. May your days be filled with smells and tastes of cinnamon and sugar, nutmeg, vanilla---or tastes of hickory, smoke, onion and garlic powder, salt and pepper. 

Merry Christmas! 

Three Little Words

 

Three Little Words.
These three little words say everything all of us ache to hear.


Perhaps every parent should say these 3 little words over every babe in their arms.
Perhaps every boss should take a vow to say this to each of their employees (oh, what a difference this would make in the workplace!)
Perhaps these three little words should be a part of every wedding vow.

“I got you.”

A parent patiently stands in the water, hands and arms upraised, saying “I got you” to the child with toes tightened around the lip of the pool edge.  The clear message for this little girl is that this parent will be there to catch her, to keep harm from happening, to keep her close and safe.

“I got you.”

A parent squats next to the child crying on the road’s pavement, blood trickling down her leg.  The parent consoles, knowing that pain cannot be taken away, but “I got you” says that the parent sees, feels the pain, and aches in every fiber to take that pain away.  The child will not face this trauma alone.  Hand in hand, both face it together.

“I got you.”

A boss faces an employee whose fear is apparent, whose fingers twitch, and whose body jumps.  “I got you,” the boss consoles.  The employee knows that the boss will stand up for her, even if the situation is due to her oversight.  The boss will stand in the fire for her.  The boss will protect her.  The boss will work for the best for her employee.

“I got you.”

Two individuals promise “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”  When we repeat these words, we honestly have no idea what we are really agreeing to.  We don’t know what the future holds, but these vows are a promise to be there for the other regardless—--these vows really express the truth of “I got you”---regardless of circumstances or time, I will be there beside you, walking through the challenges of life, no matter what.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
 

“I got you” often is a much bigger commitment than “I love you.”
We throw around “I love you” much too flippantly.  
 

As a person with a big heart, I love a whole lot of people and a whole lot of things.
I love ice cream.
I love books.
I love teaching.
I love the Baylor men’s basketball team.

However, “I got you” is not something I will say to every person I care about.
This is a much deeper commitment.

I promised each of my sons over and over, “I got you.”
And I tried to keep this promise throughout the years,
Whether they were lovable or not,
Whether their actions hurt me or their words tore little holes in my heart,
If they were here right now, I would make sure to remind them, “I got you.”

I would come running across the continent the second my oldest called.
I would drop everything the second my youngest asked for my help.
They have my support no matter what.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I had these three little words figured out when it came to being a parent.
However, I have spent my life being a complete and utter failure at saying those three little words to myself.
Until this past year, I tried to personify those 3 little words to almost anybody BUT me.
I tried to be all things to all people—except to myself.

However, a year ago, I started making promises to myself that are really summarized by three little words:
“I . . . got . . . you.”

For me, those three words mean so much.
It means that I see my hurt.
I hear what my gut says, and now that I actually listen, it speaks even louder than before.
I acknowledge my heart's passions.
I listen to the little voice that speaks to me about inner truths.
I block out the external expectations and focus on what Kim says—and If she says she is tired, I honor that.
I bear witness to my own struggles, to my own day-to-day victories, and to the little joys of life.
I reach out for help when I know I need it.
It means accepting challenges and honoring boundaries at the same time.
It means speaking up when someone has hurt me or mistreated me.
It means when life is too much, I put away the grading and sit beside the propane fire pit in my backyard with a glass of wine, a snoring dog, and a book beside me.
It means that no matter what the clock says, I honor my fatigue and go to sleep.
It means seeing my strengths and giving room for them to grow and stretch me.
It means that I make magical spaces inside my home that bring me joy.
It means that if my mind says, “Enough,” I honor that and stop whatever I am doing.
It means that I say “no” more often to things that tear me down—and “yes” much more often to the activities that remind me of the passions of life.
It means I don’t always examine all the possible consequences—and sometimes just jump when it feels right—including signing up for a writing retreat.
It means acknowledging the little girl inside this woman’s body by buying a kid’s messed-up birthday cake on huge clearance and laughing hysterically with blue icing coating my lips.
It means having my own back and protecting myself no matter the cost,
but it also means allowing myself to love—-and love big—no matter the cost because that is what my heart still wants to do.

I can now say those 3 little words to the reflection in the mirror.
I can promise myself now, “I got you” and really mean it.
Those three little words were the three words I have ached to hear from myself for half a century.
Now I promise myself daily, whispering it, and sometimes even yelling it,
 

"I got you.”

The Undertow

 

Visiting Anna Maria Island on the Gulf Coast of Florida as a child, my mother who spent her high school years in the area warned Kelly and me of the dangers of an undertow.

As a regular at that beach, she was used to the beach’s secret dangers.  Yet, she found herself surprised by the undertow that can suddenly overwhelm.

One day on a raft in her late teens, she was relaxing, and she raised her head a short while later and found herself far from shore and moving farther and farther away as the seconds passed.  Mom was headed out to sea.  After much desperate paddling, she and the raft got back to the sandbar and she was able to swim to shore.

Needless to say, her horror story was terrifying for us.  

For those unfamiliar with undertow, it is a current that flows under the surface of the ocean, often going in the opposite direction of anything else.

It is subtle.
It is unseen.  
It is also dangerous for these reasons.

You only know of an undertow if you are warned.
And even if you know of the undertow, until you feel the pull on your ankle or
Suddenly find yourself a football field down the beach from your spot on the shore,
Or lift your head and find the shore in the distance,
You honestly don’t believe it truly exists---or has the power it does.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Depression is much like the undertow.
Depression is not visible externally much of the time—it does not morph someone’s appearance so it is easily visible.
Depression might manifest in tears, but for many skilled at battling depression,  it also might manifest itself in a smile and laughter.
Depression is a current below the surface, drawing, grabbing, dragging one under.

Depression grabs and claws during sleep,
Its power is strongest in the quiet and in the dark.
It crawls from beneath the bed and whispers in the ears of anyone prone to hearing these sounds.
It suggests all the worst-case scenarios,
It highlights all the possible fears,
It isolates and exaggerates and makes the listeners believe the worst about themselves.

Depression draws and pulls from the moment the feet hit the floor in the morning.
Its continual whispers,
Its constant suggestions—
All are meant to darken the world,
To darken the sun, to silence the sounds of birds, to muffle the laughter of friends.
All senses are dulled.

Depression means that the songs you hear only remind you of your hurt,
Depression means that you desire to be left alone only to desire to be loved and surrounded by people who love you.
Depression means that you believe all the worst things ever said to you.
Depression means that you focus on the worst moments of your life and believe this reflects who you are.
Depression means that the very things that make your heart beat harder and faster and happier are the same things you cannot even make yourself  want to participate in.
Depression means that the very people who make your heart beat harder and faster and happier are the same people who you sometimes pull away from.
Depression means that you doubt their love and their acceptance.

Depression means that you don’t share your feelings because
You are so afraid of seeing their faces when the truth is shared.
You are so afraid of seeing them turn and run off, seeing the backs of their heads as they escape you—the true horror of you.
You are so afraid that you keep silent . . . .
You are so afraid that you wear the mask of a smile.
You convince yourself that you will be fine.
Or not.
But even if you aren’t, there is no one who will understand.

Like the undertow, depression is subtle.
It is unseen.  
It is also dangerous for these reasons.
It is not understood until you realize how far from the safety of the shore you are.

Depression means doggy paddling all day, every day, every month, and every year.
It means pulling against the current dragging you down,
The current grabbing at your ankles,
Nibbling at your toes,
Raiding your heart and spirit,
Silently wearing you down until you quit doggy paddling and just give in.

For those who don’t know depression,
It is exhausting.
It is the hardest battle there is.

 * * * * * * * * * * *

The only solution for this battle I know of . . . .
(And I am one who has complained to myself recently of the weariness of the doggy paddle),
Is to find a raft, a safety float, a rescue boat, or a fellow swimmer.

No one may be able to rescue you completely from the undertow,
But if you find the right safe person, perhaps someone who knows the secrets of the undertow from doggy paddling themselves,
Or perhaps a professional who can provide a solid surface for a few minutes,
You might find a respite from the pull, from the grab—
A respite that might allow you to quit paddling and pushing and moving
And allow you to find rest.

Have Tent, Will Travel---A New Tailgating Experience

 

In 2009, just after our marriage began,  Anthony said he wanted to support the local team and buy season football tickets.  He also wanted to tailgate.  I absolutely love college football, but in Texas heat in the early fall, I had never considered why in the world I would possibly want to spend extra hours in the heat rather than watching the game in my air-conditioned living room.

However, he wanted to, and I joined in.  We bought the food, set up the tent, and sweated.  At first, it was just the two of us tailgating, or when the boys were with us, the four of us tailgating.  The boys played in the creek behind our spot, and Jonathan fell in at least twice.  Look at how little they were in our very first year!  

As the years progressed, however, the tailgating crew grew.  We met people from the neighboring sites.  We invited people from our lives to join us.  Those from an additional 5 groups/sites joined us.  We even made open invitations to people passing by, and we made a point to welcome people who were from the opposing team.  Our crew ran an average of 30-40 each game and sometimes closer to 60.

* * * * * * * * * *

This once-reluctant tailgater grew to love tailgating,
not because of the heat and cold,
not because of the football team or the game of football,
not because of the food and the cold drinks,
but only because of the people.  
 

Our spot became hallowed ground for me.
Our tent became a place that taught me what I wanted to be—-what I was meant to be to others and to myself.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
 

This year marks the first year in 14 years that I am not going to be tailgating outside of the stadium.  
The story is complicated and multi-faceted.   And much too much to share here.

The tailgate trailer Anthony and I bought, along with tables, chairs, televisions, coolers, grills, and much more have been sold or given away.  I will once again be watching football in the air conditioning at home this coming Saturday when it is 101 degrees outside.
 

Regardless that I will not be in that spot—-and under that tent—-I am carrying the figurative tent with me.
Have tent, will travel.

I am so thankful for the past 13 years—and for all of you who joined me under that white fabric.
I am so thankful for Anthony who exposed me to the secret of the tent.

 

These are some of the secrets of the tent I learned about myself:

• I need a chance to just sit.  I never learned this growing up.  My parents were always busy multi-tasking.  I finally learned to set aside a whole day just to be Kim, to socialize, to eat and drink, and to just be.

• I love to be around people.  As someone who heard most of her early adult life that I was impossible to be around and that people couldn’t stand me, what a joy and a surprise to discover I could talk to anyone.  I could become friends with lots of people.  I didn’t have to agree with their beliefs, but I could laugh and talk and share life stories.

• I would give my right arm—or left—for a whole lot of people.  I loved big.  I loved the people who were under that tent.  Loving big means losing big when they disappear from your life.  However, even that loss does not mean that I regret any of my moments.

• I want to live with my arms wide open.  I have lost 3 tailgating family members in the past 10 months—Kerry, Anthony, and Jill.  They were the life of the party.  Each of them exposed me to life with arms wide open.  They experienced every moment that life gave them—and all three were taken too soon.  I want to be like them.

• I want to be a safe space for others.  There is nothing more brutal than a full day of exposure in the Texas weather some days—brutally hot, frigidly cold, or torrentially rainy or windy.  The tent provided some safety from the heat, the cold, and the rain.  The tent sheltered us from the elements.  The tent also was a space where life stories could be shared without judgment.  

        I want to be that same type of space where everyone knows they are welcome.  

        Where everyone is loved.  

        Where the feast is set out for others.  

My new tent will be like the old tent.

• I will share with anyone in need.
• I will ask for help from others when the winds of life threaten to blow down my tent.
• My table and grill are always open.
• Appearances and team jersey colors and personal beliefs and lifestyle choices—-none of them matter.
• I will invite others to join my table.  And add tables if I need to.  And chairs.
• I will wave my flag high to let others know there is a place they can call “home.”
• I will love others like Kerry, Anthony, and Jill spent their lives doing.
• I will be a huge cheerleader, whooping and hollering for my people. 

* * * * * * * * * *
 

So, tomorrow, I will sit in front of several screens, pull out some snacks, load up a cooler, and tailgate by myself.  
 

What I now know is that I will continue to tailgate.  But now my motto will be:  “have tent, will travel.”  
I can tailgate wherever I go.
I can pull out the figurative tent in my classroom, in the store, in my office at work.
I can be that tent to those who work beside me, to those I encounter, to my students, to my family and friends.
 

So, as the invitation has been wide open for 13 years,
And as I have posted in previous blog posts,

Join me under the tent.  The grill is heated up, and the table is always full of food.
You have a standing invitation—and a seat ready for you!

The Fairy Godmother

     

I never dressed up like a Disney princess.
I never even pictured myself a princess.

However, as I think back over my life, I realize that, like Cinderella, I had a fairy godmother.
Daley Love didn’t look anything like the fairy godmother in Disney’s Cinderella movie.

However, she did care for me and my sister as if we were her own children, and she loved my children as her own.  

And she would have turned a pumpkin into a coach for me if she could have.
She would have provided birds as companions to remind me I was loved.

After all, anyone named Daley Love has to be a special person,
Someone whose name exemplifies her.

Daley Love was a fairy godmother of sorts—
She had a magical touch.
She could make a house a home,
a picnic meal a feast,
or an ordinary event a memory to remember long after.

Much as the fairy godmother turned the pumpkin into a magical coach drawn by
mice-turned horses,
Any space in which Daley Love lived in or inhabited became something special—-

A fireplace became a hearth,
A playroom became a magical land of imagination,
A group of children who didn’t sing well became a heavenly choir she directed,
A Caravan camping trip became glamping,
And even a trip to Adventure Island in the pouring rain with roaches pouring out of the shelter we huddled beneath became a memory to forever remember.

Her hospitality,
Her warmth,
Her love . . .

Through my childhood,
Through the awkward teen years,
Through young motherhood, as she greeted each of my children with all the joy a biological mother would,
Through marriage and divorce and remarriage,
Through the deaths of my grandparents, my mother, my father,
Daley Love stood witness and supported me.
Cards would arrive in the mail with love sprinkled inside the envelope.

As one of my mother’s closest friends,
She was the reference book of all things people,
And when Mom could not remember someone’s name or something pertinent,
Daley Love was on speed dial.
For her, people mattered.
People deserved to be seen and deserved to be cared for.

Quietly working weekly at the church counting money,
Doing the books for Freight Sales, supporting her husband,
Cooking food for others,
Volunteering at the church,
Daley Love exemplified love.

How fortunate I am to have memories of times with her
Sledding down snow-covered hills,
Riding in the back of the Freight Sales mattress-filled semi-truck with Lori, Joey, and Kelly,
Singing in the choir she and Carol Mihlfeld led with Psalty the Songbook (AKA Dad) beside me,
Singing beside her in Jim Lacy’s choir when I became older,
Seeing her smile as I married a second time,
Seeing her rocking my youngest in a rocking chair in Texas,
And providing me the warmest welcome when I was able to come back home to Florida.

I will miss knowing that she is only a phone call away,
Or a trip away.
I will miss her tender ability to create that magical sense of love.

I have to believe that she would agree with the Fairy Godmother who says to Cinderella,
“If you’d lost all your faith, I couldn’t be here. And here I am!”

And with just a bit of faith, I think she would want to tell me
She is here.  Still with me.  Just a memory away,
Turning the ordinary into love-touched memories.
Telling me that the ugliness of the world and of evil "stepsisters" can be something of the past.
Reminding me that I am more than some ash-covered unseen being.

With just a bit of faith, she is here telling me that I am more than that.
I am loved.
And my challenge now is to go out and share this truth with others.  

My challenge is to exemplify daily love for
Daley Love.