Because PJ (Papa John) was sitting right next to the phone, he answered it. I could hear only his side of the conversation.
RING-G-G...RING-G-G-G
PJ Hello.
?
PJ Who is this?
?
PJ Well, it's nice to hear your voice. Are you calling to talk to me?
?
PJ Great!
?
PJ You lost your what?
?
PJ You lost your Keesh? What is a keesh?
?
PJ You lost your Kiss? How did you do that?
?
PJ Oh...You lost your keys. Car keys? House keys?
?
PJ Not your keys? You lost your what?
?
PJ I don't know what keesh is..
?
After several minutes...
PJ Well. Thank you for calling. I hope you find your keesh. Maybe your mother knows where it is.
?
CLICK
PJ to me -- That was our granddaughter, and she says she lost her keesh. I don't know why she called to tell me that. I don't even know what that conversation was about.
BW We have been watching that loose tooth for four days..
PJ Do you think that's what she lost?
BW I'll betcha...
Patty adds this thought: "Check out my blog for the snaggle-toothed surprise!"
Friday, July 11, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
COUSINS
According to Webster, the number one meaning for the word cousin is the child of one's aunt or uncle. When asked to draw a picture of something beautiful they saw in the campout we were just completing, the littlest of the group drew five stick figures. One of the figures was the dog, and I assume the others were her two sisters and her two cousins. She added this explanation to her picture. "My cousins visitid [sic] me."
She could have selected to draw snow-covered Mount Rainier or forested unknown-name mountains. She could have drawn Tall trees looming over our camp site or nearby rivers or creeks of abundant flowing water. Butterflies or birds or chipmunks or caterpillars might have graced her page of artwork. Looking down on steep canyons as we rode up...up...up to Paradise or having a snowball fight when she was supposed to be eating lunch could have been her artistic choice. Even the swinging, cable bridge was one sister's choice of subject matter.
But this six-year-old grandchild chose the subject that kept me most enthralled with the wonderment of family on this occasion -- watching cousins interact and play and sing and pretend and chatter and make s'mores. I was mindful of my own youth and cousin Jan, many years and miles from this place. There were no trees to speak of and even tap water was scarce in the tiny West Texas town where our family reunion was held. However, as children, we just enjoyed the pleasure of each other's company...feeling the bond of kinship.
Cousin is such an important relationship that even the Bible sets the stage for the coming Messiah when pregnant Mary visits her pregnant cousin Elizabeth. Later, of course, John announced, "Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!" How befitting it is that Christ's cousin was the herald of such great news.
I delighted in watching five girls interact and romp and spontaneously follow Papa John on his walk. And I wonder to myself, "Will the boychild cousin, due in the near future, change the dynamics of this love shown?"
She could have selected to draw snow-covered Mount Rainier or forested unknown-name mountains. She could have drawn Tall trees looming over our camp site or nearby rivers or creeks of abundant flowing water. Butterflies or birds or chipmunks or caterpillars might have graced her page of artwork. Looking down on steep canyons as we rode up...up...up to Paradise or having a snowball fight when she was supposed to be eating lunch could have been her artistic choice. Even the swinging, cable bridge was one sister's choice of subject matter.
But this six-year-old grandchild chose the subject that kept me most enthralled with the wonderment of family on this occasion -- watching cousins interact and play and sing and pretend and chatter and make s'mores. I was mindful of my own youth and cousin Jan, many years and miles from this place. There were no trees to speak of and even tap water was scarce in the tiny West Texas town where our family reunion was held. However, as children, we just enjoyed the pleasure of each other's company...feeling the bond of kinship.
Cousin is such an important relationship that even the Bible sets the stage for the coming Messiah when pregnant Mary visits her pregnant cousin Elizabeth. Later, of course, John announced, "Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!" How befitting it is that Christ's cousin was the herald of such great news.
I delighted in watching five girls interact and romp and spontaneously follow Papa John on his walk. And I wonder to myself, "Will the boychild cousin, due in the near future, change the dynamics of this love shown?"
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
One of Life's Bigger Lessons
We have just arrived home after two weeks of spending time by Sam's bedside as he battles to regain his life. For more details and photos, visit John's blog.
Anyone who knows I have a brother knows at least one thing about us -- we were not very good at "getting along" as kids. Our sibling battles were frequent, and they grieved Mother.
After Sam was in the hospital for 8 weeks...basically on life support...the time was right for us to travel to be by his side. As I stood beside Sam's bedside in Modesto Memorial ICU for the first time, he took my latex-gloved hand and kissed my fingertips. His lips moved, but they formed no words. Tears came to his eyes (and mine).
The memories of wasted years flood my thoughts. Oh, reader, don't think of us as battling all those years. As adults, we have had two or three really good conversations about why we were always fighting as kids. Because we have not lived near each other, it has just been easy to live our lives with little regard for each other.
This illness has caused me to realize how precious family ties are. Our father died 18 years ago, following Mother's death by one year.
When we were kids, Sam would tease or hit or irritate me. Mother would force him to apologize.
He would say, "I'm sorry...but I don't mean it." Mother would make him say it again. "I'm sorry."
"But I don't mean it." This apology could take what seemed like an eternity.
Mother might even make him hug or kiss his little sister and once again...say the words "I'm sorry."
But as soon as Mother left the room, Sam would add "But I don't mean it." I realize now that she probably left the room to laugh.
After two weeks of "suiting up" to be near Sam, watching him sleep, cheering him on as he lifted his arms for the first time to exercise....as he "sat up" (his nurses pushed the buttons that made his bed into a chair )...as his speech became clearer through his tracheotomy...and many other firsts on his road to recovery, the time came for us to return home.
One last trip to the hospital to say "goodbye."
Again, the tears came..."Sis. I love you....."
And this time I believe he meant it.
Anyone who knows I have a brother knows at least one thing about us -- we were not very good at "getting along" as kids. Our sibling battles were frequent, and they grieved Mother.
After Sam was in the hospital for 8 weeks...basically on life support...the time was right for us to travel to be by his side. As I stood beside Sam's bedside in Modesto Memorial ICU for the first time, he took my latex-gloved hand and kissed my fingertips. His lips moved, but they formed no words. Tears came to his eyes (and mine).
The memories of wasted years flood my thoughts. Oh, reader, don't think of us as battling all those years. As adults, we have had two or three really good conversations about why we were always fighting as kids. Because we have not lived near each other, it has just been easy to live our lives with little regard for each other.
This illness has caused me to realize how precious family ties are. Our father died 18 years ago, following Mother's death by one year.
When we were kids, Sam would tease or hit or irritate me. Mother would force him to apologize.
He would say, "I'm sorry...but I don't mean it." Mother would make him say it again. "I'm sorry."
"But I don't mean it." This apology could take what seemed like an eternity.
Mother might even make him hug or kiss his little sister and once again...say the words "I'm sorry."
But as soon as Mother left the room, Sam would add "But I don't mean it." I realize now that she probably left the room to laugh.
After two weeks of "suiting up" to be near Sam, watching him sleep, cheering him on as he lifted his arms for the first time to exercise....as he "sat up" (his nurses pushed the buttons that made his bed into a chair )...as his speech became clearer through his tracheotomy...and many other firsts on his road to recovery, the time came for us to return home.
One last trip to the hospital to say "goodbye."
Again, the tears came..."Sis. I love you....."
And this time I believe he meant it.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Sam, he is
Many of my days' hours are spent watching my only sibling struggle for each breath; nothing is easy for him. Tomorrow will mark the beginning of his 9th week since he has been able to walk, talk, eat, sit up.....etc. I read the following to his wife last night, and we all got a badly needed chuckle.
We had just moved to Dexter, New Mexico. While I was recuperating from a badly sprained ankle, Sammy had the freedom to explore and to meet other kids. About the third day, he came home with a black eye. Mother and Daddy both quizzed him. He did not want to talk about it in front of Mother so he and Daddy took a walk.
The story, as I recall it, came out that he had met some other boys. His description of them was vague, but they were about his age and wore felt hats with pop bottle lids attached somehow and they rode bikes. Apparently Sammy decided to explore around the edge of the cotton field and had ended up almost back at the highway in a shaded area near a church yard when he happened across these boys about his age but much bigger.
Anyway, somehow in the process of getting acquainted, one of the boys called him a :”Son of A Gun.” He put up his dukes and told the boy to take it back. It was not hurtful to him to be called such a name, but He was not going to get by with calling my Mother “a Gun.”
We had just moved to Dexter, New Mexico. While I was recuperating from a badly sprained ankle, Sammy had the freedom to explore and to meet other kids. About the third day, he came home with a black eye. Mother and Daddy both quizzed him. He did not want to talk about it in front of Mother so he and Daddy took a walk.
The story, as I recall it, came out that he had met some other boys. His description of them was vague, but they were about his age and wore felt hats with pop bottle lids attached somehow and they rode bikes. Apparently Sammy decided to explore around the edge of the cotton field and had ended up almost back at the highway in a shaded area near a church yard when he happened across these boys about his age but much bigger.
Anyway, somehow in the process of getting acquainted, one of the boys called him a :”Son of A Gun.” He put up his dukes and told the boy to take it back. It was not hurtful to him to be called such a name, but He was not going to get by with calling my Mother “a Gun.”
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Our technicolor world
It is not that I don't write for this blog,,,it IS that much of what I write gets set in moth balls never to be seen by other humans.
When the young man leading prayer in our Bible class mentioned my name, I flinched a little. And when he ended our petition for me to "return to normal," I could not help but smile. It reminded me of the man with the withered hand who constantly prayed for God to make both of his hands the same. Finally, God answered his plea; He made the other hand withered, also.
Some readers probably realize that I was scheduled during this time to have long-overdue surgery for cataracts. According to my appointments, first the right eye and, a week later, the left were to be operated on. Anyone who has met me in person knows that my body (and especially my head) can take off on its own with seismic tremor. I felt calm going into the first surgery even relaxed enough that I crossed my legs and laced my fingers together But, unbeknownst to me, my head had other ideas. Although I had warned the staff ahead that this could happen, they were not prepared for what did occur next. Some of my cloudy fluid escaped, causing some rather sizable :"floaters."
The doctors were afraid that they might need to hospitalize me in order to sedate me to remove the floaters at the same time as the left eye surgery. It looks like the floaters will continue to dissolve ; the second surgery is now scheduled for this Tuesday. When I ran into the surgeon at the appointment desk before the left eye surgery, he said, "We are ordering a really big strap this time." I am happy to report that the second went smoothly.
Meanwhile, I have discovered the world around me is brilliantly colored. This area of the country is so beautiful this time of year anyway...flowering bushes and trees and shrubs heralding fruits to follow. I had no idea my sight was so limited; it was like looking at the world through wax paper during a dust storm.
I feel like Calvin and Hobbes, having lived in a colorless world. Now things are too brilliant; "God is SO BIG!" Now I need a new photo for my blog. I do not have orange hair nor are my cheeks such a strange color. Besides, I am now viewing the world around me without glasses.
When the young man leading prayer in our Bible class mentioned my name, I flinched a little. And when he ended our petition for me to "return to normal," I could not help but smile. It reminded me of the man with the withered hand who constantly prayed for God to make both of his hands the same. Finally, God answered his plea; He made the other hand withered, also.
Some readers probably realize that I was scheduled during this time to have long-overdue surgery for cataracts. According to my appointments, first the right eye and, a week later, the left were to be operated on. Anyone who has met me in person knows that my body (and especially my head) can take off on its own with seismic tremor. I felt calm going into the first surgery even relaxed enough that I crossed my legs and laced my fingers together But, unbeknownst to me, my head had other ideas. Although I had warned the staff ahead that this could happen, they were not prepared for what did occur next. Some of my cloudy fluid escaped, causing some rather sizable :"floaters."
The doctors were afraid that they might need to hospitalize me in order to sedate me to remove the floaters at the same time as the left eye surgery. It looks like the floaters will continue to dissolve ; the second surgery is now scheduled for this Tuesday. When I ran into the surgeon at the appointment desk before the left eye surgery, he said, "We are ordering a really big strap this time." I am happy to report that the second went smoothly.
Meanwhile, I have discovered the world around me is brilliantly colored. This area of the country is so beautiful this time of year anyway...flowering bushes and trees and shrubs heralding fruits to follow. I had no idea my sight was so limited; it was like looking at the world through wax paper during a dust storm.
I feel like Calvin and Hobbes, having lived in a colorless world. Now things are too brilliant; "God is SO BIG!" Now I need a new photo for my blog. I do not have orange hair nor are my cheeks such a strange color. Besides, I am now viewing the world around me without glasses.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
When things are not as they seem...
When John's mother Alta bought a new sewing machine, she started with simple embroidery and, by nature, progressed beyond what the average seamstress would take on. Her first project was a large piece of white cotton (20" X 32") turned and hemmed with embroidered triangles in various colors. She made eight or ten for me for a Christmas present.
I enjoyed those table napkins so much. Especially men would comment on how much they appreciated the full-size napkins that actually covered the lap and stayed put. Her handiwork was so handy as a bib for babies and grown ups eating crab or artichokes dipped in butter or bar-b-que ribs. Obviously, they were saved for guests. And after each use, they were washed and ironed and put away for the next special occasion.
When my napkins were several years old, we went to California to visit our families. When helping Alta clean up after a meal, she handed me a cloth that looked all the world like my wonderful napkins. The only difference was that she did not iron hers. I was so surprised that she wanted me to use it as a drying rag. As it turns out, that was her intent all along. We had a good laugh together about my mistaking them as napkins.
I still have one "napkin" which I use as a dish cloth, but I caught myself this morning moving it to the bottom of the stack. After all, it is still my most special one.
I enjoyed those table napkins so much. Especially men would comment on how much they appreciated the full-size napkins that actually covered the lap and stayed put. Her handiwork was so handy as a bib for babies and grown ups eating crab or artichokes dipped in butter or bar-b-que ribs. Obviously, they were saved for guests. And after each use, they were washed and ironed and put away for the next special occasion.
When my napkins were several years old, we went to California to visit our families. When helping Alta clean up after a meal, she handed me a cloth that looked all the world like my wonderful napkins. The only difference was that she did not iron hers. I was so surprised that she wanted me to use it as a drying rag. As it turns out, that was her intent all along. We had a good laugh together about my mistaking them as napkins.
I still have one "napkin" which I use as a dish cloth, but I caught myself this morning moving it to the bottom of the stack. After all, it is still my most special one.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
In response to REAL readers
OKAY..OKAY. All right already! I need to prove to David that he is not adopted and let anyone interested know what I have been reading. Please keep in mind that I am awaiting cataract surgery and have been looking at the printed world through a magnifying glass. But I do read...just not as voraciously as some folks I know.
I have started Dorothy Gilman's Thale's Folly. A little novel I
picked up at the Friend's of the lIbrary sale recently
I reread Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. A gift from Geoffrey that I recently regifted to a special family.
In the most recent edition of Book Women publication, my friend Carol Copeland wrote an article called "Three Woman." The article tells how we met each other through Jessie Mather.
Quicken Personal Finances 2007 Manual...I don't want to talk about it.
Taste of Home Slow Cooker Classics...proving, once again, "If you don't have the ingredients, stay out of the kitchen." This was a "must have" Valentine's gift from my wonderful hubby.
Bible studies that are presently ongoing are "Through the Gospels in Real Time," "Proverbs," "Jude", and a lady's study guide that gave me whiplash turning back and forth from Old Testament to New. I am also reviewing my Freshman "Basic Bible Study Guide" seeking a good study. Any suggestions?
Talking Drums by Patty Slack is a magnificent novel, yet to be discovered. I was looking for flaws (some call that editing) so my reading was somewhat skewed. As you can imagine, there were precious few errors.
I am privileged to be typing Jeanne Stinson's Memoirs. Jeanne is a dear 80-something friend who lived in Africa during her early years and in (much) later years, resided in a boat house on the Columbia River.
As you can tell, my reading is not as eclectic as some in my family. If it is not obvious to acquaintances by now, I am a dabbler in everything
I have started Dorothy Gilman's Thale's Folly. A little novel I
picked up at the Friend's of the lIbrary sale recently
I reread Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. A gift from Geoffrey that I recently regifted to a special family.
In the most recent edition of Book Women publication, my friend Carol Copeland wrote an article called "Three Woman." The article tells how we met each other through Jessie Mather.
Quicken Personal Finances 2007 Manual...I don't want to talk about it.
Taste of Home Slow Cooker Classics...proving, once again, "If you don't have the ingredients, stay out of the kitchen." This was a "must have" Valentine's gift from my wonderful hubby.
Bible studies that are presently ongoing are "Through the Gospels in Real Time," "Proverbs," "Jude", and a lady's study guide that gave me whiplash turning back and forth from Old Testament to New. I am also reviewing my Freshman "Basic Bible Study Guide" seeking a good study. Any suggestions?
Talking Drums by Patty Slack is a magnificent novel, yet to be discovered. I was looking for flaws (some call that editing) so my reading was somewhat skewed. As you can imagine, there were precious few errors.
I am privileged to be typing Jeanne Stinson's Memoirs. Jeanne is a dear 80-something friend who lived in Africa during her early years and in (much) later years, resided in a boat house on the Columbia River.
As you can tell, my reading is not as eclectic as some in my family. If it is not obvious to acquaintances by now, I am a dabbler in everything
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
