Category: fifty something

20Dec

Fair weather and bald heads

25

Like most people, I am a work in progress. When I discover something I don’t like about myself, I try to change it the best I can. Like Dr. Phil says, “We can’t change what we don’t acknowledge”.

So this past summer I learned something about myself. Or rather, I acknowledged something about myself that I really don’t care for.

I am a “fair weather” person. I mean literally. And figuratively. So many times I allow my surroundings to dictate my experiences.  Let me give you an example.

My granddaughter Lexi’s birthday is in July. This year on her eighth birthday she decided she wanted to have her birthday party at a nearby playground.  I hesitate to admit it, but I really wasn’t thrilled with her choice. The month of July in East Tennessee is hot. And humid. And mosquitos fly rampant.  And this wasn’t a beautiful park with shade trees and a running stream, this was simply a playground.

That hot and humid afternoon we gathered at the playground and celebrated Lexi’s birthday. Although, in truth, I didn’t do much celebrating at all.  While others were enjoying their grilled hot dogs, I was obsessing over how hot and uncomfortable I was. I focused on the sweat building up on my forehead and the heat from my hair on the back of my neck. The mosquito repellent that I purchased on the way there, had been omitted from the bag, so while others were watching Lexi unwrap her gifts, I was on the lookout for mosquitos trying to ravage my legs. I left the party at the first acceptable chance I could. All I could think about was air conditioning and a cold drink waiting for me at home.

Only later that evening after a cool shower and a cold drink did I reflect on my actions. Looking back, just because my creature comforts were not met, I didn’t allow myself to enjoy my granddaughters party. I failed to look beyond myself and capture the essence of the moment.

And I find that I’m not limited to just climate conditions interfering with my full, undivided participation in life. Small irritants like someone being too loud in a restaurant, or a fly circling my glass can distract me as well.

After that birthday party, I have become much more aware of my tendency to focus on the seemingly negative influences that made me create boundaries between me and my ability to enjoy life’s experiences.

Which brings me to today.

It’s Christmastime. What little shopping and wrapping I had to do is done. My little tree is decorated. These last few weekends I have most likely watched every Hallmark Christmas movie that  has ever been made. And as much as these things have put me in the Christmas spirit, I wanted to bring myself back to the root of what Christmas means to me; the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. So, I went to church this morning. The church my daughter Heather attends was having a Christmas musical presentation.

I set my alarm clock early not wanting to rush getting ready. I made time to eat breakfast. I left early in order to get a good seat. As I’m sitting down in the second row (center, I might add), I’m grateful that I got up and left early. This is a good seat. The room is beginning to fill up with the anticipated full house. I look toward the stage and there it is. Right smack in front of me. The biggest, baldest head I have ever seen. Oh no! It’s the fear every short person has – to get behind a big head. I began to get that vague dread that I was going to allow this small bump in the road, this distraction, to interfere with my Christmas experience. Was I going to disregard the reflex to focus on the negative or was this surely going to ruin the next hour for me?

So I closed my eyes and thought back about Lexi’s birthday party and all that I chose to ignore that day; Lexi’s smile, my grown children playing childhood games with their niece, and so much more. And as my eyes were closed and my mind replayed that day, around me the drums began to drum loudly, the sound rising up in my chest. (Literal drums, the program was beginning).

When I opened my eyes… well, the big bald head was still there. And as hard as it was to ignore, I found myself forgetting it was there. And by doing that, I was blessed with the most captivating, spiritually uplifting, experiences I’ve had in a long time.

So, the next time my fair weather tendency rears its ugly head, I will have today’s experience to look back on and know that I can overcome the impulse to focus on the negative. It’s a small step I know, but a step just the same.

Merry Christmas,

Cat

13Sep

Single file and yeast rolls

It happened in an instant and it came from out of nowhere. Just the other day I was walking down a hallway (location not important) and there it was. That smell, that aroma, that unmistaken combination of yeast, disinfectant, and a faint hint of…what…ink from a mimeograph machine? And there I was again, transformed back into the halls of my elementary school.

I could see myself walking in a “single file” line with my classmates going to the cafeteria at lunch time. You could smell the fresh baked yeast rolls all the way down the hall. On the way we would pass the boys and girls restrooms (on the right), and just before entering the cafeteria, there on the left, was the office (where the intimidating principal lived). Thus, the trio of aromas hitting the senses; yeast from the rolls, disinfectant from the rest rooms, and ink from the office. Good, reminiscing smells.

I look back on my  school days at Powell Elementary School and smile. I was quiet and shy (hard to believe, right?). I tended to be a follower – I don’t think there was a “leader” bone in my body. I can recall even being nervous when I was, on the occasion, proclaimed “line leader”. After all, that’s a lot of responsibility and everybody is looking to you to keep that line straight and true.

Powell Elementary, the institution where I learned reading, writing, and begrudgingly, arithmetic – and a whole lot more. It was the place where I first witnessed someone with a learning disability and wanting desperately to help him. The thrill of watching a reel-to-reel movie even though it was educational (please, no pop quiz afterwards). The dreaded “achievement tests”. The smell of pencil shavings and the feel of chalk between my fingers. The excitement of getting to go outside on pretty days for a lesson or two (thank you Miss Hendrix). The morning Pledge of Allegiance where we all proudly put our hands over our hearts and recited those words.

In those years I found out that Santa Claus wasn’t real, and not every teacher is nice. The yearly group picture where I would inevitably be seated on the far end (shortest on the end after all). Those halls witnessed my first kiss (a quick kiss in the cafeteria after school) and subsequently, my first breakup. I enjoy thinking back of art class in the spooky basement, the musty smell of the gym floor (yes, we laid directly on the floor),and the sound of the bell ringing telling us that the school day was over. I established a lifelong friend, Ellie Baker Howe.

Those memories are forever etched in my mind. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Those formative years where life lessons made more of an impression than the “Three R’s”. May those halls forever echo the chant, “Go Panthers”!

29Aug

Heather Denise

 

1

Mother and Daughter

*** I write this on the 38th birthday of this remarkable woman that I am so proud to call “Daughter.” She continues to fill  my life with joy, pride, and awe.  ***

I thought I knew about life. I thought I knew about love.

Then she was born. August 29, 1977. We named her Heather Denise. She weighed in at 6 pounds, 14 ounces and was the most beautiful sight my eyes had ever seen. I was all of 21 years old.

From the very first time I held her in my arms I knew that my life would never be the same. When people say they don’t believe in love at first sight, they clearly don’t remember that moment they looked into their child’s eyes for the first time. That moment when you know that you will love this person until the day you die.

Heather was an easy baby. She slept well, she nursed well, she cooed, she loved her baths, she adored being held. She loved being rocked to sleep in the hand me down, freshly painted yellow rocking chair.

There wasn’t anything about this child that was difficult. I recall at times feeling a bit smug about this, thinking that it was the calm, peaceful environment that she was being raised in that contributed to her good nature.(I would learn later after her colicky sister Robin was born that her “peaceful environment” had nothing to do with her temperament.)

Time taught me that Heather did things in her own, carefully executed time. She didn’t walk until she was eighteen months old. I had well intentioned, concerned people to advise me if I would “get her off my hip” she would walk. I have to admit, I was a bit concerned myself, enough so to consult her pediatrician. After his careful examination, I was reassured that Heather would walk when Heather was ready. And she did just that. At eighteen months old, without fanfare, without any attention called to herself, she pulled herself up next to the sofa, she let go – and boom – she walked the entire length of the living room without falling, stumbling, or the least bit of wobbling.

And so that act of walking became indicative of the way Heather has lived her life; on her own terms. She’s a thinker, a planner, a woman that envisions success before she has even made her first move. Oh how I admire that! She has a heart of gold and empathy for others that stretches for miles. She loves tirelessly and persistently. The challenges she has faced would break anyone else. Yet, she continues to tackle each and every one with determination, faith, and an unyielding spirit.

In her 38 years Heather has had many accomplishments. She is a graduate of the University of Tennessee. She enjoys a career as a graphic artist. She has been married to her one and only love Dave for 15 years. They have a beautiful, articulate, intelligent daughter named Alexis Rhea (Thank you Heather & Dave for giving her my middle name, Rhea.)

But if you asked Heather, her treasure above all, it would be the salvation she received through Jesus Christ. That redemption continues to be the foundation of her life that all else works around. Her faith is uncompromising, unwavering, and undying.

This woman is one of my heroes. Is it selfish that I hope that I may have had a part in her becoming the woman that she is today? Because what a legacy that would be for me. Regardless if my influence was great or insignificant, I am one proud Mamma.

Happy Birthday Heather Denise,  Mamma loves you oh so much!

05Jul

She believed

shopping

This bracelet came up on a news feed of mine. I studied it. Not the bracelet, but the words. I’ve probably studied over it more than some people would study for a test. Well, not so much study, but ponder. The words are powerful. The words imply strength and courage and all the other positive feelings that are conjured up in these seven little words.

When I first saw these words I thought about the women in my life that intentionally took on a challenge. Chris Mac decided she wanted to have a healthier lifestyle and took on the challenge of losing weight the old fashioned way – by eating healthy and exercising. Hannah  has taken on the challenge of going back to college to become an RN after having a child. Brenda G later in life chose to adopt three children that needed her. Amy made the decision to not only tell her adoption story, but posted it for all the world to read. To these women and others like you,  I humbly acknowledge your courage.

Then there’s the rest of us – no less important,  but our challenges more or less got dumped into our laps. We didn’t ask for them. We weren’t looking for them, but they happened just the same. Cynthia discovered she had breast cancer. Angela and Laura G found themselves in destructive marriages. Many of us were given widowhood.  My Aunt Lois and cousins Pat and Tina face each day with the deterioration of their husband/father from Alzheimers disease. Heather battles the fear that comes with having a child with severe food allergies. Then there’s the many single moms I know that get up each morning to fill the shoes of both mother and father. My own sister Terri is synonymous with courage, tenacity, and strength (although sometimes she doesn’t see it).

So I go back to the words: She believed she could, so she did.

In all honesty, there were times when I didn’t know if I could overcome the loss of my husband and the avalanche of aftershocks that came with it. I feel sure that each person I have mentioned and all of the ones in this video have had the same feeling at one time or another in the challenges that have faced them. That doubt, that defeating feeling, that nagging in the back of your mind that says it’s too hard, it’s too much to bear. We fall. We cry. We doubt.

But herein lies the difference: We fell but we didn’t stay down, we wiped our bloodied knees and got back up.  We cried, but we wiped our tears away and pushed forward.  We doubted, but it didn’t consume us. We overcame. And that’s what I celebrate today.

So this is for you ladies:  The women that inspire me, encourage me, and lift me up.