A Tribute to Dad 6/13/14

Dad is eighty-one.  He'll be eighty-two in November, one month and one day after I turn fifty-two.  That means he turned thirty a month after I was born.  How cool that he lived a whole life before his children started showing up - and that he left that life and embraced being a husband and a father with the vigor and single-mindedness that only he can muster.

I think Dad probably could've played college basketball somewhere.  Instead, there was a broken leg, then he joined the service, as many depression-era children ended up doing.  He spent time in Japan, which I always thought was so exotic - there was even a kimono that I could dress up in every now and then!

Dad ended up with three daughters.  I do think perhaps that God purposely meant for him to have three girls! Maybe he would have been too demanding on boys - who can tell?  Having girls was perfect.  He supported our arts efforts as well as sports.

Dad was always involved, with a capital "I".  Whether it was a softball team at work or being a deacon/Sunday School teacher/coach at church; Dad got a kick out of either running the show or helping out. His involvement spilled over to include us.  I had a speaking part in a grown-up church skit when I was seven.  Dad and his friend started a sports league for fifth through eighth graders at small private schools. Of course we played every sport. My Dad helped share church services at nursing homes on Sunday afternoons - and took my sisters and me along to sing and play piano.

If he wasn't in charge, he was supporting.  My Dad came to every ball game that work would allow.  He had a special outfit in school colors, and a jacket with our numbers embroidered on it. Each number was surrounded by a star for each year we lettered in basketball.

Dad made experiences special.  When I turned thirteen, I got to order prime rib in a restaurant. My fourteenth birthday, Dad took just me to see "Oklahoma!" at a dinner theater.  My sweet sixteenth birthday gift was a tailgating trip with friends to a Florida Gators game!

When I left for college, Dad did something very special. He wrote me one letter every week.  Dad just caught me up on the household and sports news.  In each letter was a one dollar bill.  He never missed.  My senior year, the ones turned into fives!   Four years of college - one letter a week.  That's my Dad.

Dad was the only one there with me when I took the walk down the aisle to get married.  I'll never forget how we stayed out of sight until the last bridesmaid headed toward the front. Then he looked at me with his eyes a little shiny and said "Let's give them what they're waiting for!"

Dad doesn't remember a lot these days. The processes of age have taken the clarity and replaced it with confusion. Every now and then, a joke can find its way through.  However, I remember all of the

things I've mentioned and more. I hope to tell him about recent changes.  I know that even if he doesn't understand it, that somewhere inside, he's cheering me on wholeheartedly.  He is half of the team that made me who I am; he is encouraging, involved, a bit silly and most importantly, a loving Christian father.  Thank you Dad.

One year, cloudy water and Mother's Day

This was intended to be my final post.  I told myself  "I'll end it at the one year anniversary.  I'll just let it be about the first year of grief."  I tell myself a lot of things that don't happen.  There's a story that is my life and I've chosen to chronicle it here.  It would be unfair to leave it hanging at this point.  I'm wanting to know what happens myself!

Mother's Day morning, the pool water was yellow and cloudy.  Somehow, the cloudy water mirrored my attitude.  Three days prior was the one year mark for Scott's death. It was a day.  Not horrible, not great, just a day.  I called his mom, I called my girls.  I was grateful that the girls did the public, social media "wish you were still here" tribute.  Both were beautiful, and I didn't want to have to do that.

I received one note in the mail before that day.  It was from Maria, my college roommate, who lost her husband the very same way last September.  Maria gets it.  She understands that the date must be acknowledged, but she also knows about Robbie and how I'm feeling hopeful again.  Part of her note said :You can now walk into May 9th and into your next chapter, or rather volume, feeling happy and excited."  I kept that in mind on Friday, May 9th.  I took a breath and carried on, thinking positively.

Friday turned out to be a positive day.  Robbie sent me flowers at work.  That's a big deal.  A beautiful arrangement that was still going strong a week later, and a nice note.  Positive, happy and excited were on the front burner.  Saturday then dawned bright and my mood wasn't even shattered by Gordon getting dirt all over my white linen pants.  Although alone most of the morning, I solved that problem by leisurely shopping and doing errands.  My friend came over in the afternoon, we hit the pool and then saw a movie.  Not too bad.

Mother's Day Sunday, I woke to one nice note, although not from my kids (at that point).  When I looked out the window, I was surprised to see the the pool water had turned a cloudy yellow. I immediately checked chemicals, turned on filters, researched "yellow, cloudy water", scrubbed, emptied, etc. etc.  I then sat back and crossed my fingers. That's what I do with the pool, a lot of the time.  It may have been Mother's Day, but that water was not going to clear itself!  The rest of the day was filled with either visiting or talking with those whom I love.  I was only alone for a portion of the morning.  I did talk to one person that was having their first mother's day without the mom of the family.  As much as I want to reach out, and even though I've experienced almost the very same thing, I don't feel I helped very much.  Some days are just hard.


I don't like not being able to help people and I don't like not being able to help myself.  Thank goodness these "hard days" only last a while.  Time marched on, I've seen Robbie face to face again, and last night my girls came home.....with a Mother's Day present.  The few hours of the cloudy water and being alone have faded away like the cloudy water itself.  All it took to clear the water was two bags of chlorine shock and a little time for filtering.

Most of the past year has been cloudy for me.  I've learned that it is possible for the cloudiness to clear with time.  It took the shock of the fact that life can go on with happiness and the time to filter that fact. It might not be exactly one year, but dismissing the timeline is becoming easier.  Just this past weekend (two weeks after mother's day), the cloudiness started to creep back into the pool. No fair! I thought it was gone! I also thought that grief might disappear with the one year mark. You guessed it. It doesn't. It can be eased, though. Shock and time.  Go away, cloudy days.  I choose the shock of feeling happy and secure once again along with the time that has gone by to banish cloudiness and restore clear vision.

Princess manners or; Lessons from my Mom 2/28/14

I had a 'princess tea party' with a four year old last night.  She was adorable.  I think it was an excuse to con me out of a cookie and some ice cream, but we had fun.  Real sweet tea in the teapot, Disney princess cups, the works.  She asked the cutest question along the way:  "Do princesses always have to use their manners?" I answered very thoughtfully (this not being my child.....) "Of course they do!  But every now and then, a princess might be hanging out with her other princess girl friend and they might not need quite as many manners."  Answer accepted.  A few minutes later, when she said something about dog poop, I surmised that I was now a princess girl friend and the tea party was over.

She made me think of all the wisdom that women give their little princesses all through life. Some is fun, some very serious. I made a little list, just to honor all the fun, loving and very important things I learned from my mom....and her mom, her aunt, and others along the way!

A few of the royal rules:

1.       “No” can be used as a complete sentence.  Often.

2.       When nobody else gives you flowers for a while, buy them for yourself

3.       If I set foot in the ocean, every sailfish, grouper, whale, salmon, ray, octopus, turtle, dolphin, hippo, shark, and anything else out there will come bite my toes.

4.       Any creature that doesn't live in the ocean is welcome in my house. (Except big snakes.)

5.       Every now and then, you just gotta buy yourself a Camaro.

6.       Always wear your lipstick and polish your toes, you never know who you’re going to meet.

7.       If you’re good at something and it benefits others, say ‘yes’ more often than you say ‘no’.

8.       Electronics purchases are based on how pretty the lights are.

9.       Wear a slip.

10.   Call when you get there.

11.   Whatever your creative self does, do it to make yourself happy.  Don’t worry about getting rich or famous, just do it for fun.

12.   There is no stopping point to the acquisition of jewelry (that one is really mine…)

13.   Plants are friends.

14.   Shoes are not friends.

15.   Dogs and cats are equals.

16.   Any recipe can be adapted.

17.   A good tan hides a lot.

18.   Every now and then, spending the entire Saturday with your best friend is just necessary.

19.   Kids are everything.  Until grandkids come along, and then there is a new category of everything.

20.   Pray without ceasing.

I love you, mom!

I'm cornbread - Who are you? 12/30/13

Have you ever had a piece of really fine, Southern-cooked cornbread?  Bacon grease, buttermilk, and an iron skillet are all involved in creating the delectable treat.  Its rich, flavorful, crunchy-soft texture makes it perfect as a bread or a "sopper" - a side dish designed to mop up grave or juices so nothing of a delicious meal is wasted.

It's obvious, is it not, that I am a fan of cornbread.  But this story has nothing to do with actually eating cornbread.  There was no cornbread in either of the Christmas meals in which I participated.  Ham was the main dish at both sides of the family's gatherings. The breads of choice were potato rolls and yeast rolls.  No, cornbread just popped into my mind one day.  The sixth day of our holiday trip, I was sitting in the living room with many beloved family members, and the thought just occurred - "I feel like a piece of cornbread.".  I was in the overwhelming emotional state of love, grief, exhaustion, recovery from illness, desire to help, desire to sleep - and I pictured myself as a triangle of cornbread.  I don't mean that I had been stirred and baked at a high heat.  I mean that the consistency and purposes of the piece of cornbread as it sits on the dinner plate seemed to perfectly portray my perception of how I react to all overtures and approaches to me.

First things first - I feel loved. I feel loved by friends.  I feel loved at work.  I especially felt loved when visiting the families this past week.  It's so good to get to see the family.  I love seeing and spending time with everyone.  We're all different, yet all a part of the same group.  I think of it as a meal on a plate - all your different items, and I'm the piece of cornbread.  Nobody would not want the cornbread there - I belong.

I feel covered.  I feel as if everyone wants to spread a layer of protection over me like so much butter!  Thank you, by the way.  I have needed a lot of protection this year.   Sometimes, without that layer of people to step up to others and say "Do you know who this is?" or "Let me tell you what you're dealing with here...", I would have dried up and crumbled away.  Many family, friends, and even social media acquaintances have spread a layer of protection over me by coming to my defense in some matter or sympathizing with their own experience stories that make me laugh and feel as if I'm not alone.

A good cornbread is a little crumbly.  It's a coarse bread, so those pieces sometimes just crumble away. I can identify with the crumbly nature of cornbread.  Innocent things - tv commercials, e-mails, greeting cards, comments, questions, advice - all of those can crumble me in a second.  Just as the fork doesn't mean to hit the cornbread on its way to the vegetables, the world doesn't mean to stab me. My consistency right now makes it easy for little things to just stick in and knock a piece of me away.  If anyone can actually give me a real, factual system for not being too sensitive, I will listen and try it.  How do you change the way you are emotionally made?  The important part, though, is that even though I may get a bit crumbled, so many others are there for me to hold me together.

To know I'm not alone is such an advantage.  There are big chunks of time when I am now physically alone.  (There will be another post someday on the advantages of dogs and cats.)  But I am not alone in any way other than that. Just as all the servings of food on a plate bump into each other, and the juices roll around to be soaked up by the cornbread, I am surrounded, in spirit, with so many of you that drop everything to be there if I call, text,  make a comment, or cry out through a status.  You reach out and I soak it up.  Thank you.  Just as cornbread is made richer by soaking in some juice (I'm thinking good old-fashioned beans and cornbread, a little sausage with it....), I am made richer and stronger by your support.  I am trying to take steps on the road to recovery.  When I stop still and stare, it may be your simple smile or pat on the arm that gives me strength to pick up my foot and take another step.

So, here's to the new year. I can make an honest toast that says "May it be better than 2013."  Even thinking that hurts, though, because 2013 contained my last months of my "old" life.  The life I thought I'd live forever. Thank goodness for the love and ideas and wisdom out there that this little ol' piece of cornbread can soak up. I might sit and stare and act a little bland, but please know I gather in your wishes, hugs and love and convert them to the strength to go on.  Happy New Year.

The Hardest Questions of All. Thanks, Santa. 12/12/13

Little ones ask so many questions.  Personal questions - "How old are you?"  Silly questions - "Can I have that bracelet?"  Blunt questions - "Are those real diamonds?"  But the two hardest questions of all occur this time of year:  "Mrs. Rush, is Santa real?"  followed by "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?"  Elementary teachers have to face the fact the there are as many levels of belief in their classroom as there are students.  We also have to face the fact that those students believe whatever we say.  We are the teachers.  We speak wisdom and truth!  I bill myself as a teacher that only tells the truth.  So, when I was asked these difficult questions today, as I have been so many years in a row, I gave an answer that has been many years in the making:

"Is Santa real?  Jailynn says he's not."  Oh boy, here we go.  Carefully worded truth. These were second graders.  I personally found out the truth from a kid in my class in third grade.  I was angry and disappointed.  Considering this little questioner was about the same age, I spoke very cautiously:

"Now, my little friends, you might be hearing all sorts of things about Santa from your friends here in your class at school. I think that Santa is very much alive in the spirit of giving.  Different families have different ways that they share that with their kids, so please believe whatever your parents tell you.  This season is about love and giving.  Sometimes we give gifts, sometimes we give a song, sometimes we give our time to help someone.  Santa is one of the leaders behind all that giving, but we are all involved in it.  I hope that you have the chance to give a little bit this season and see how it makes you happy.  Even if what you give is your best smile." (The room erupts into smiley faces.)

"But what about what Jailynn said?"  "Well, her family still believes in giving and being sweet.  Her parents just explain it in a different way from your parents.  But that's ok if the real purpose is being nice."

"Why doesn't Santa bring presents to grown-ups?"  "Well, it's not because all grown-ups are bad.  I'm certainly not bad!" (giggle eruption).  "I think it's because when you are very little you only know how to get stuff.  When you get older, you learn how to give yourself, so Santa doesn't have to give you things to teach you that anymore." (Can we please sing now?)

Then, the granddaddy of them all:  "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?"  Dead silence.  They think they've got me.  "I have to say yes, my friends.  I believe in Santa as he represents the spirit of giving.  I believe in Santa in the idea that if you are good, good things come to you.  I try to practice that all year long on you boys and girls by giving treasure box goodies to the well-behaved children.  I believe that once you really know Santa as a grown-up, you understand that giving is so much more than a present.  Giving can be a smile, saying someone looks nice, visiting someone, calling them, writing them a note, or singing them a song. This is the truth that Santa represents and in my heart I know it's true.  Believe what your mom and dad tell you. That will be different for everyone in here, but don't we celebrate differences at our school?" (Nodding heads) "Santa wants you to grow up to have a giving heart, so he sets the example."  (Quiet.....)  "Now let's sing - please give me some beautiful songs with beautiful voices today!"  Smiles - music - action.  Thanks, Santa.

Holiday Lessons from the Animal Kingdom - or - Why the Cat Threw Up 11/27/13

The cat threw up already.  It's only Wednesday, day BEFORE Thanksgiving, and there's some purging going on around here. Poor Roxy.  She's not really purging, you all know cats don't do that, right?  But she is suffering a common holiday malady: invasion of space and routine.

I love the holidays.  I love time off work, I love seeing family and friends.  I'm especially grateful to not only have my precious girls home from college, but nephew Zach visiting as well.  We are knitting together a united front against the sadness of missing Scott.  We are staying busy, either running around or binge TV-watching.  And of course, cooking and eating.  So far, so good. And, before you read any further...he is the perfect guest, he's family, I do my thing and don't stress. All reflections in this blog came to me as - yes - Roxy threw up.

Along with the college girls comes Isis, the college kitty.  She's about six months old and cute as can be.  She's gotten much bigger since leaving here in August.  I no longer have to block the spindles on the upstairs overlook for fear that she will wiggle through and fall to the first floor, as she did in July.  She has her own opinion about where she wants to go and which other animals she likes.  Basically, it's nobody.

Now to be fair, the other animals either hate her or want to play too rough.  (55-lb dog vs. six-month-old kitten, you know?)  So everybody is walking around all stressed out.  Except maybe Gordon, the big dog, he only wants to play! I wish it were easier and faster to say to animals: "You're in this together, now let's be nice to each other!"   It occurred to me, just after Roxy lost her breakfast this morning, that the last time she did that was when Isis was here.  My cat gets stressed and throws up!  I know, gross. 

But how different is that from any of us that are hosting or visiting over the holiday, and have our routine interrupted?  Do we embrace it or does it just make us a little sick or even ruin our day?  I personally embrace change of routine on my terms.  For example - yes, I will have kolaches for breakfast one morning, but it's back to the cereal for me after that! I love people being around, having fun, especially if they are the kind of people that I can say "Do your thing, I'm going in here for a while!" 

I hope that all my friends and any other readers and find a way to enjoy and celebrate the disruption of routine that comes with holidays on their own terms.  My animal friends can't talk with each other and discover that they really don't have to stress.  Roxy is growling at Isis as I type this!  We can, however, be truthful about our feelings in a considerate way, and make non-routine days work nicely! Whoever you spend your holiday with, you and those people are a united front against the sadness, heartbreak and grief in the world.  Laugh together, cry together, gorge on that meal together......Together.  And no throwing up.  (at least, not from stress!)  Happy Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all of you.

How Gratefulness Fits 11/3/13

I saw a couple of posts on November 1st.  "I am thankful for..."  Some even included the "30 days of thankfulness" challenge.  It's a great exercise, coming up with something different and not necessarily the same cookie-cutter sayings.  Some of the ones I read are quite amusing.  I considered trying it, but I just can't.  It's not that I don't have so much for which to be grateful.  It's just that I; 1) am afraid to commit to anything not required right now and 2) am afraid that rooting around in my brain for something new every day will dredge up anger and hopelessness instead of thankfulness.

I am probably one of the most grateful people in the world this year.  Yes, I am a widow.  But, as my widow friend Ann says (about herself, and I am in agreement about me), I am in better shape than 90% of any other widows.  He left us in good shape financially and that enables me to face the rest of life, even if it is without him.  I don't know what shape I would be in if that were not the case.  I don't even like to think about it.  He left us the greatest gift he could by being smart with financial planning, and for that I am repeating "thank you, thank you so much" in my head at all times.

I am so grateful for my family. My precious girls have stepped up and shown themselves to be determined to do well in school and help out when necessary by working also.  My Mom and Dad are there whenever I need them, as are my sisters. Scott's family is still my own - they check on me and let me know I still belong with them.  I am grateful for my "family of friends" (sorry, Peter Frampton, I had to borrow that!), the ones that make sure I get out and do things and don't become a hermit, and the ones that take the time at work to stop, talk a minute, be there at special events - I am surrounded by wonderful, smart, kind people.

I am grateful for my job.  Even though I get ready every morning in an empty house, and make sure I turn off everything before I leave, because nobody else is there, within an hour or so I'm in a noisy, boisterous, mostly happy crowd of children.  They are funny, they are smart, they are like sponges when I find the right presentation of my subject (or any other item up for discussion!)  You know how you tear your cuticle, or get a paper cut on your fingertip?  And then when you put a Band-Aid on there kind of tight, it doesn't hurt as much?  That's how I feel during the school day.  I feel as if there's a tight Band-Aid around the pain and it simmers down and lets me teach and enjoy my little darlings.

At home, the Band-Aid feeling kind of disappears, but there are four lovely creatures that do their best to annoy soothe me.  How did we ever end up with four pets?  Cuddles, Marylebone, Roxy and Gordon are the light of my home life.  If you do have pets, then you know that their personalities are individual and adorable.  Some days, I know I have to get out of bed, only because Cuddles has to have her thyroid medication. When I get home each day, the house is not empty.  I am greeted by loads of tail-wagging and meowing.  Some nights, when I can't sleep, both dogs snuggle close to me, whether I talk or cry.  And Roxy, well, Roxy just doesn't let anyone do anything she doesn't like, and insists upon them doing what she does like.  (In a very loud voice, of course.) Thank goodness, one of the things she does like is sitting on my lap and being my friend.

So, you see, I am extremely thankful.  I love the fact that America has a Thanksgiving Day, but even more, I love people that keep thankfulness in their hearts all year 'round. Thank you notes, Facebook messages and statuses, e-mails, phone calls, cards.......I'm not perfect, by any means, but I try. My friends do, too.  You, my friends, are welcome to show the social media world the 30 things you are thankful for each day this month - I enjoy reading them!  But I know you better than that.  I know that you are grateful for life and its blessings year-round.  As am I.

Posts I Reconsidered.....

Blog Posts I Reconsidered

1.        An Ode to Diet Ginger Ale

2.       Why I Like the Music on Candy Crush

3.       Reasons why Peter Frampton isn’t right for me ( :()

4.       That Time I Scrubbed Shadows on the Pool Wall

5.       Prancing Unicorns and Slegs

6.       How My Mom Went From Pac-Man to Farmville

7.       In Defense of Reality TV

8.       A List of all the Places I Keep My Reading Glasses

9.       Pandora Charms You Should Buy For Me

10.   A Compilation of My Tripadvisor Reviews

11.   A Full Description of My Cat’s Bladder Issues

12.    My Crusade against Mexican Lavender

13.   If You Can Maintain a Pool, You Should CLEP Chemistry

14.   Blogging Is Another Form Of Begging For Attention

15.   Quit Mapping Your Ride, I Feel Guilty!!

16.   Why Is Sag Harbor a Brand Name For Clothes Worn By Older Ladies?

17.   Revealed:  The Name of the Person That Teased Me So Badly I Never Wore Pointy-Toed Shoes Again

18.   The Real Story Behind Those Vacation Pics

19.   Why Phrases Like “A Pile of Men” and “He’s So Slippery!” Should Land Me a Football Announcer Gig

20.   An Elementary Teacher’s Guide to Fake Curse Words (Oh, Boogers!)