Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

I began with the thirty days of thankfulness on Facebook. As the days progressed I realized that I would need more than thirty days to list all the things for which I am grateful.

It has been a trying year to say the least. Losing a job, quitting two more, looking for something low-stress and pleasurable...a hard thing to do. But when it was all said and done, I have a stress-free job that allows me to work a few days a month. I am writing and enjoying it, even if I don't publish.

The heart surgery set me back a bit, not a surprise I'd like again. Followed closely by other procedures and diagnoses, this has not been a banner year health-wise. However, I am  alive.  I've learned things about myself, my health, my family and friends. I've never felt more love than I have in these past months.

I've grown spiritually this year. I am connected more with my church, not by simply serving as council president, but as an ambassador from God to witness my faith.

I've made new friends from all over the world.They keep life a learning experience. They give me hope and joy and fun.

My old friends have been wonderfully understanding. They keep my spirit alive. I don't mean to be so needy, but they hold me up and make me laugh.

I have become even closer with my family, as if that were possible!

For all these big things, and for all the little things, I am truly grateful.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm Shy

Well, not most of the time, but in some situations and with some people I get positively tongue-tied. It takes a lot of effort and pep talks to get over the feeling of dread in those situations.

Other times I get into trouble because I say too much, or word it all wrong.

It's a no-win.

I've been watching some friends play a game of "what you may not know about me". I tell you now, I could write reams on the subject. I spent so many years being introverted and reclusive that very few people got to know me at all.

Then one day I began my blog. And another day I began to change. And now, I am not who I was. The shyness still surfaces from time to time, but mostly I am put together.

There are some things no one will ever know, not because I am ashamed of them, but because they--unlike the mustache fiasco--are too private to share. Some things are better off unspoken.

I also wonder if anyone cares about the things they don't know about me. I can't remember a time when anyone cared enough to ask about the other me. Those who know me now want to see me as I am. Those from my past remember a different person and have to get to know me all over again. Those who met me during my transition period probably think I'm flaky because I had discovered new things about myself and my emotions were in an uproar. Oh well. It is what it is.

We live and we learn. We take to our hearts people and trivial memories and our choices. We file them away in our mental catalog and bring them out to savor (or to reject) at the oddest moments. Some of those remembrances may make us wince, some will make us cry, with some we will rejoice.

It doesn't matter how we respond, only that we do.

Like the shyness that I still have to work to resolve, there are a list of things in my life that I need to get over. I need to make them memories and to store them somewhere I can look back and not carry with me.

Ten things you may not know about me? HAH! I can think of dozens!

Ugly

Did you ever have one of those days when you felt UGLY.  I don't mean just having a bad hair day. I mean UGLY. 

I'm having one of those days. I feel fat, old and a bit contentious. My skin looks pasty. My legs hurt. I need hugs. I feel UGLY.

I am not one who gives in to feelings of inadequacy any more. I have learned to go with the flow, to remind myself that I have a capable brain and a talent for certain things. My physical appearance ordinarily doesn't make people squeamish--except on days like yesterday when I had to look in a full-length mirror as I was changing into a hospital gown for an x-ray. UGLY.

Everybody loves you, says a very kind matron at church.

 Well, not everyone, I say to myself. I am reminded of long-lost friends and family who don't return my calls or emails. Only a handful, but still some. When I think of their rejection, I feel cantankerous, worthless and UGLY.  I think of "friends" on Facebook who "de-friended" me because I disagreed with something they said, or voiced my own opinion. Again, the rejection makes me feel UGLY.

I take teasing with a grain of salt and a dash of pepper. Depending on the source, I will give back as good as I get. Beware my tongue.

Criticism I shrug off, if it is given with sincerity and caring. If it is meant to be nit-picky and/or cruel I tend to explode like a meteor over Russia. I won't let it make me feel UGLY for long.

UGLY is more an attitude than a reality. I know I'm not the chick I used to be, but then, who is? A wrinkle here, a grey hair there, an extra pound or sewed-in new parts do not change who one is. We grow, we change. Sometimes we stagnate for years until something or someone suddenly wakens us from our self-imposed Rip Van Winkle-ness. We begin once again to pick up where we left off and begin to feel and grow all over again. Sometimes the new emotions are like a thunderbolt. We feel pretty and eager to enjoy life.

OK, so I give in to self-pity on occasion. I am still a teenager in my brain, and when I waken with the creaks and scars of this last traumatic year I have to look at my self-image and use words like 'maturity' and 'well-preserved'. 

And, sometimes 'UGLY'.

Remembering Daddy Joe

Today is my father's birthday. He would have been ninety years old.

My Dad was a gentle man. He rarely raised his voice, never raised his hand. Instead, when he was angry, his words became quiet.and you just knew you were in trouble.

In his younger days he would lift me in the air, hold his arm out straight and hold me up with that one arm, We would run ahead of Mom and Grandma sometimes, then stop to rest and, when they caught up with us, run ahead again, giggling all the way.

I remember his Jeep, circa 1950. Oh, how I loved to ride in that Jeep! We would go to Grandpa Hess' camp in the mountains most weekends. I always got a ride in the Jeep. Mountain roads? Not Dad. He was far more likely to take a short-cut over saplings in the woods. One day we spotted a bear on the roadside.  

"Look, Daddy! A bear!" I cried out. Dad only hesitated a second, then off into the woods we went after that bear. Nope, we didn't even get close. Boy, could that bear run.

I remember taking rides on Sunday afternoons in his Pontiac Silver Chief (turquoise and white, for you classic car buffs). Mom and Dad, neither of them the most talented of crooners, would sing old songs--Dad and his Army hits (cleaned up for little ears) and Mom with her Tex Ritter. We would stop to have dinner someplace, Dad with his hot roast beef and mashed potatoes, Mom with her grilled cheese, me being just like Dad. Those were the days....

His ever-present pack of filterless Camels would lay in his pocket everywhere he went, his coffee handy by his side. Smoke didn't bother me much back then, and I would sit by his side with my Popsicle as he cheerfully puffed away.

Dad spent a good portion of his youth on a farm, and while his father lived they gardened the spare lot by our homes. After Grandpa died, Dad cultivated a garden of his own, smaller in size, but with robust plants that would feed an army.

I wouldn't have the time or the space to share all of my memories of Dad. I remember his pride when I graduated, his tears the day I got married, his sadness when his mother passed away. I remember his laughter when my children were around and his tenderness with our pets. I remember his last words to me.

Dad had various ailments as he aged--diabetes, heart problems, cataracts. One thing at a time, his doctors said. The diabetes was brought under control easily for Dad. He quit smoking cold turkey when his breathing became labored. He had bypass surgery--not the seventeen centimeter incision like mine, but an autopsy-like cut that ran from stem to stern. He survived all those.

In his last days, he had a defibrillator implanted. The doctors were sending him to Pittsburgh for cataract surgery. All seemed well. A simple cataract surgery. He would be home the next evening.

"Stay with your mother tonight," he said. 

He had never asked me to do that before.

He missed his ride home. He had to spend the night of the eye operation in a guest room at the VA hospital.

I was with Mom when the call came at two the next morning.

I miss my Dad to this day

The other night I dreamed that we were at a dance. I can never remember Dad dancing, but there he was with Mom, doing the Twist! Then they began spinning so fast they were a blur. I don't often dream of my Dad, but when I do, he is always happy and energetic. I know he is at peace with Mom by his side.

Today I will celebrate his birthday quietly in my heart. I will go to the cemetery, maybe shed a tear or two, and remember.

Rest in peace, Daddy Joe.