Your Song

I was surprised by Rich, the best husband in the world, with 2 tickets to Vegas this month to go see Elton John. When I tell you that it was the top thing on my bucket list, you’ll probably think, ‘really’? I would have thought meeting the Queen of England, going to Ireland with Kevin, or going to Paris with your husband. Sorry boys and your Royal Highness, Elton was number one. Let me give you a little neurophysiological reason why: The limbic system.

The limbic system is a set of brain structures. I won’t bore you with how cool the hippocampus, amygdala, or anterior thalamic nuclei are, or all that the limbic system does. It’s all very deep in the brain and over my head (or in my head). These remarkable structures of the brain are why we have long-term memories that we can think back on, and help us to function socially with all the stimuli that come at us in our lives. Have I lost you yet? It’s the place where our emotions, good, bad, and ugly are signaled with other influencers like the endocrine and autonomic nervous system. It’s related to how we survive, feel fear, anger, love, pleasure (related to food or sex) or what motivates us consciously and unconsciously. The amygdala will determine ‘what’ memories will be stored in the brain. Thanks a bunch amygdala for storing the Tag Team: Woomp, There It Is!!!!

I was 8 years old when I first heard Elton John’s sing ‘Your Song’. Within the next few decades, he’d sing a dozen ballads that would hook me on an emotional level. I was in 2^nd grade math class the first time I heard ‘Crocodile Rock’. After we finished our math lesson (which I hated and was thoroughly clueless) our teacher would play 15 minutes of music on the record player as a reward. (For those of you born earlier than 1990, a record player is an electric disk playing machine turntable that went round and round. It had a long handle with a needle on it to play a vinyl record.) We could dance in the back of the math room or sit at our desk quietly and enjoy the music. I didn’t understand fractions, but I could dance. Guess where I was? Elton’s songs brought up complex emotions and the pleasant nostalgia of my youth. When I heard ‘Philadelphia Freedom’, my radio was playing while my dad was putting up shelves in my bedroom for my beer can collection. (Don’t ask. It obviously was an unconscious way to relate and connect with my dad by collecting beer cans. Lots of kids did it in the 70’s. Okay, boys did it.) Oh lordy, I am truly dating myself here!

I realize that for all the years that my brain has identified with Elton John songs, 40 years later, you’d think I would know the words by heart.  I don’t. His ballads are both brilliant and ridiculous. There are just enough words in each song of the chorus that I could track with, the rest of the song I’ve been making it up. 

I have a gift for talking people into things they would never think to do on their own (I talked Rich into dressing up as a clown for Kevin’s birthday, even got him to dress up and sing Elvis in front of a large group of people), but my all time favorite thing I talked someone into doing was dressing my little brother Mike up as Elton John for Halloween. Why? My brain stored Mike as Elton John as a positive, fun, creative memory. I sowed sequins on the back of my long brown fur-lined coat and gave him big glasses. He totally pulled it off. I think my brother Rich was the Frito Bandito that year. I remember a picture of the 3 of us was taken, and I’d give anything to see it again (I’m not sure Mike would like to see it again).

When the night arrived, I got my groovy on. I wore hippy red platform shoes to go with my hippy top. It was so much fun to be in Vegas to see Elton. We drove to Caesars Palace Coliseum. However, we were given the wrong directions where to park. We pulled into VIP parking and Rich told me I should get out of the car so I wouldn’t have to walk so far. It was a nice thought but a bad plan. I got out and off he drove to find the Coliseum parking lot. Once inside, I realized that we never said where we’d meet up. And he didn’t have his phone with him (really, Rich, it’s 2012!). There were thousands of people everywhere and it was 20 minutes until the show started. I found a place where I could sit (to take the load off my feet, what was I thinking?). I also didn’t have the tickets. So do I wait or walk over to the Coliseum? Will he think to come and find me back at the VIP area or will he expect me to meet him at the Coliseum? I like playing chess, but I’m not good at thinking 5 moves ahead. I just didn’t know which move to make in the moment. So I said a prayer and tapped into my inner Zen. I sat there and told myself not to panic for 10 more minutes. “Try not to think of missing the opening number Kim, it’s gonna be okay, breathe!” Exactly 10 minutes later, Rich comes running through the crowd and finds me. I was so happy to see him (he was happy I wasn’t mad at him for forgetting his cell phone). 

We got into our seat with a few minutes to spare before the opening number. I thought for sure that Elton would open with Benny and the Jets (the first few piano notes of that song are epic.) No, in true Elton John fashion, he came out in a floor length gold sequined cap and played the ‘The Bitch Is Back!” It was perfect!!! The crowd went crazy. My limbic system was never so happy! (By the way, Benny and the Jets, was the second song).

There were a few mindful thoughts that I had during the concert: Elton still had it!!! He played to his strengths. His voice was strong throughout. However, he used back up on those high notes that he was no longer able to sing. It was seamless and you didn’t judge the 2012 Elton from the 1970’s Elton. He played to the crowd (almost 95%) songs we all wanted to hear. The other 5% were songs I had never heard before. But it was what he wanted to play. Good for you Elton; life gets boring doing the same thing over and over. Do what makes you happy. He also engaged the crowd and allowed them to come on stage with him (yeah, I’m sure they paid for it). He went up to the audience and high-fived every person in the front row. He truly was having fun when he could have been a complete diva. Speaking of diva, never piss off a gay man with hundreds of millions of dollars. At 65, he said he didn’t give a shit what people thought of him. I hope I can get to that place. He spoke his mind and Madonna and Celine got a sassy tongue-lashing. He took the time to thank each and every person on stage from the band to the back up singers. His crew has been with him for decades-he must not be that bad to work for. He talked about some of the meaning behind most of the songs. I love a good story. Hearing it from him made those songs all the more special in my limbic brain. He talked about how Ryan White changed his life to raise awareness and money for AIDS research. He honored his friends, Princess Diana, and Liz Taylor, and co-writer Bernie Taupin. You could tell he genuinely valued the friends how have stood by him through the years.

And while he sang, a DJ could have been saying, “And this one goes out to Kim.” ‘Someone Save My Life Tonight’ and ‘I’m Still Standing’ are anthem songs (I can’t believe I’m still standing after all these years). My limbic brain say’s good for you for taking the lyrics to heart: You know, I’m still standing better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid. And I’m still standing after all this time, picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind. There were so many songs that my brain could put a date and memory to. But when Elton started to sing, It’s a little bit funny……..from ‘Your Song’ new neuropath ways were being laid down in my cortex. I started to cry with Rich sitting next to me, hugging his arm. From the first time I heard the song at 8 years old, until now, 48 years old, it never was so fresh, meaningful, or special.

Thank you Rich for finding me in the crowd and for blessing me with a wonderful opportunity to be stirred in my soul. I enjoyed my evening with you and the gifted piano man. And you can tell everyone ‘Your Song’ is our song.  xoxo

(Video posted on Facebook....hope it works. For you Rich!)

HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY G.G.

Today would have been Margaret Clara Melley’s 100^th birthday. She died 4 years ago. She always wanted to make it to 100 so she could get a letter from the President. This is my tribute to my grandma (a.k.a Gram or G.G.) for Kevin and my family. I know it’s too long to be a blog and too short to be a book. But I wanted you to have something in writing about her so it’s a ‘blook’. :-D

My Grandmother Melley was extraordinary to me. She would have considered herself ordinary by any standards. She was born on March 15^th 1912 (the year the Titanic sank, as she always reminded me). Her mother, Clara Amelia Baening (Boening) was German, and her father Walter Weir Rayburn was Scottish and French. Gram had two brothers and one sister.  Her father worked as an engineer for the Illinois Central Railroad. He fell off the top of an icy engine during the winter and fell into a grease pit. He became a paraplegic and died a few years later. Gram was too young to remember him. If asked “was it hard to grow up without a father”, she would say, “it’s all I knew.” Gram would tell me her mother was a ‘Saint’ for taking loving care of her husband and children with no help. They grew up in an era that is soon to be forgotten, except by Internet searches and history books. Their spirit of forging a humble life through the most modest means with little distractions has passed. Gram saw it all through the 20^th century.  

I loved listening to her stories. She remembers when the World War I soldiers passed by on the trains. The soldiers would hang out the windows during the switching of the freight trains. Gram would say, “Nothing was too good for our boys.” So they would run to the house or little store to get the soldiers candy or cookies. And when the war was over, paperboys ran through the neighborhood streets yelling, “Extra, extra read all about it. The war is over!” She used to say that people were more excited by news back then because they were not saturated with news all day and night. She sang little ditty’s that I never heard before but meant something to her: My Buddy (a war song), Let the Rest Of The World Go By, Daisy, Daisy. But the one I loved the most was, I Love You A Bushel and a Peck.

 Gram married William Robert Melley. They had three children (Janet, Jean (my mother) and Bobby). When they got married they observed an old world tradition called ‘Shivarie’. When couples got married they returned home from the church to be greeted by the neighbors on the front porch. The kids would bang pots and pans and the married couple would throw out handfuls of dimes to the children. It was nostalgic for her. Gram became a widow after my grandfather died of a sudden heart attack in the late 1950’s at Greyhound Bus where he worked. Left to raise three children on her own (just like her mother before her) my Gram worked two jobs and persevered and ‘did the best she could.’ I used to say she was the original single mother. Taking care of herself and her children taught her a few things: “I just had to get up and do it or it wouldn’t get done. And I always had $5000 saved for emergency.”

 She was so intelligent—well read in all the classic literature, art, history, and some politics and religion (though religious she was not). She traveled all over the world beginning in her sixties. When she was in grade school there was a painting on the wall called the ‘Angelus’ by Jean Francois Millet. With passion she would say, “I loved that painting and felt so connected to it” It showed two peasants, a man and a woman, standing in the field with bowed heads in prayer over their basket of food. Many years later Gram went to Paris and went to the Louvre to see the ‘Angelus’ in person. She said, “I gazed at the original and studied the brush stokes and felt a wondrous fulfillment-so satisfied to see my beloved painting again.” When she was in her early eighties, she went to Russia all by herself. I used to spend hours listening to her recount her trips in detail and looking through her travel log albums of each trip. She worked hard and saved all her money so she could travel. She even took me to Washington D.C. for a week so we could take our time taking in all the history of our National Capitol. 

Gram was extremely patriotic. The 4^th of July was her favorite holiday. She was proud that my brother Rich served in the Air Force during the Gulf War. He was often stationed all over the world, so they had traveling the world in common too.

Gram moved from Evergreen Park to the city (Chicago) in 1974 into a high-rise building affectionately called ‘Grandma’s Village’ by my brother Mike. Being suburban kids who lived in a 2-story Raised Ranch, looking out over Lake Michigan in a 20-story building seemed amazing. Mike wouldn’t look out the window but Richie and I would press our noses to the window and look out over the city in awe, trying to feel the building sway (just a little). As a little boy, Mike remembers when he slept over at G.G.’s apartment for the first time. She was tucking him into bed and then she turned around and walked over to her dresser and took off her wig. Mike was freaked out that she took off her hair. We all were a little ‘wigged out’ as kids when Gram would leave her hairpieces all over the place.

Gram was a self described ‘women’s libber’.  She admired strong women like Helen Keller, Amelia Earhart, or Eleanor Roosevelt. She remembers when women and children didn’t have rights. And if she thought a child was being abused or a man was being a ‘jackass’ for keeping a woman in her place, she’d give you her two-cents. When she lived on the north side of Chicago she worked as a secretary until she was 77 years old for Quaker Oats. On her days off she would try to help rehab the Edgewood Community and clean it up. When she moved in there were drug dealers in the neighborhood and the elderly would get mugged. There was no police protection or street cleaning. She would go down every week to the City Counsel to represent her neighborhood (i.e., to complain) about absentee landlords. I laughed when she told me that one of the police had the ‘nerve’ to ask her why she was living there. “I told him!” I bet he got an ear full. Over time, the community was improved. If Gram was younger, I could have seen her running for alderman.

  

Having the opportunity to go visit Gram in the city was thrilling. My two brothers and I were put on the train (all by ourselves) and sent to the city where our grandmother met us at Union Station with jovial laughter and hugs. We would spend time going to the beach, the zoo, all the museums, gorging on oatmeal raisin cookies and deep-dish pizza at Ginos.

She always wanted to inspire and educate her grandchildren. For the Bicentennial celebration in 1976 she took us to see the tall ship called the ‘Christian Radich’ (I think because it was in the movie ‘The Windjammer’). We stood in line for 5 blazing hot summer hours to walk on a ship for 5 minutes. She always spent time with us one on one. My brother Rich got to see the Air & Water show.  Mike was taken to the Museum of Science and Industry (Gram did a lot of sitting and watching Mike). Becky was taken to Lincoln Park Zoo. And I was taken to the Art Institute. We all were taken to the theater. 

Because Gram worked for Quaker Oats she would say, “Eat all your oatmeal and grandma will get a raise!” So we ate every bite of oatmeal (including her famous ‘secret’ oatmeal cookies. Which we learned as adults was only the recipe on the back of the oatmeal box).  If we were good, she would perform her rendition of the ‘Can Can’ while eating breakfast. We always were good. There is nothing more hilarious than seeing your grandmother kicking her legs up as high as she’s able then shaking her skirt like she was in Vaudeville.

The first week Kevin was born, Grandma Melley was there to help me take care of us once I got out of the hospital. I was so blessed and calmed to have her there with me. She delighted over Kevin from the moment she held him in her arms. From that day forward, she became affectionately known as G.G. (great grandmother). Later after I remarried, she enjoyed Adam, Sarah, and April and thought they were such delightful children—which they were. She thought April was the funniest monkey, hanging all over her and making G.G. laugh. Sarah was living G.G.’s dream teaching high school English and Theater. When Adam’s son, Tyler, was born, she loved hearing all the ‘baby’ updates (since her eye sight was going).

 Kevin was privileged to know his great grandma for two decades. In past generations, most people never had the opportunity to know their grandparents because they didn’t live that long-let alone their great grandparents. I felt special to know my grandmother all of my life, and I’m thankful that Kevin got to know her too. Not many people get to learn the historical past in their own biological family. Since G.G. was born in 1912, she saw every innovation of the 20^th century. She told us about the first time she listened to the radio, ate pizza, saw a ‘talkie’ motion picture, took a ride up in a bi-wing barnstormer plane, used penicillin, watched TV, used a typewriter, a calculator, electric wash machine and dryer, drove a car, and flew in a jet all for the first time. G.G marveled at everything. She always told me, “Life is what you make it. What’s the alternative?”

We would go see my grandma once a month when she lived in the city (later every two weeks after she got sick and lost her short term memory). We brought her flowers each time we came to visit because she told us once that she didn’t want anyone to bring her flowers when she died. “If you couldn’t give flowers to the person when they were alive, why bother when they are dead.” Gram had a point. She always had a point.

 She loved us all ‘a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck’.  G.G. would greet us with an enveloping hug like you just came home from a long safari and she couldn’t wait to hear all about your adventures. She blessed us with praise whenever she saw something worthy. She would always remind me during Kevin’s teenage years, “He has goodness in him, I know goodness when I see it”. What was amazing to me was how relaxed she was around young people. I’d wonder what this proper lady would say the times Kevin or April would dye their hair, or when he pierced his ear, or got a tattoo, or wore baggy clothes. As long as you were polite, respectful, and clean, she loved the ‘young kids’.  In fact, she got a kick out of them.

We often went to Shakespeare plays together-Gram’s treat. We usually had front row tickets for Hamlet (because G.G. was hard of hearing). Once the actors pulled Kevin up on stage and he hammed it up for a minute. G.G. loved it because she was the biggest ham of them all-staring in many plays at the Admiral On the Lake (a residence for seniors).  There is a scene where the ghost of Hamlet’s father appears to him to tell him that he’s been murdered. The kings parting words to his son, Hamlet, were “Remember me!” After G.G. died, Kevin put the letters G.G. in the eyes of his koi-fish tattoo (which is on his arm) to remember her.

Kevin says that in many ways he’s who he is today because of G.G. When she moved from Grandmas’ Village to the Admiral On the Lake (which was just across the street), Kevin became a soup aficionado because of eating at the Admiral dining room with GG. Her pet name for him was Soup Kid or The Kid—it must have been a generational recognition. If we talked on the phone she’d ask, “How’s the Kid?”  If we were at her apartment she’d say, “Make yourself at home and get yourself a pop Kid. Do you want a piece of milk chocolate Kid? Turn on the television Kid and watch something you’re interested in.”). Kev learned to get along with people older than himself and would have unique conversations with people 6x his age. He said, “G.G. always made me feel like her equal in her presence.” She trusted him. He didn’t need to be watched every second or corrected. However, if we went out to eat, manners were important to G.G: chew with your mouth closed, napkin on your lap, be polite to the waiters or bus boys. Kevin was always apart of the conversation, but he must wait his turn to speak and not interrupt. Even Kevin could see she was a strong, independent woman, well traveled, full of fun, and loving towards her friends and family.  

Her boisterous laugh and great sense of humor is a genetic trait. Her trademark was how she could be the life of the party and the audience all in one. At lunch, she sat with the fun crowd and you could always hear G.G. throughout the dining room. I have the same genetic loud laughter (I catch myself sometimes, including slapping my knee or someone else’s knee). Gram called my sister Becky ‘giggle puss’ because she was always laughing too. But Becky was laughing at Gram (we all laughed with Gram). If I had to pick what I miss most about my grandma, I’d say it’s her laughter (luckily I recorded her on tape and in video so I’ll always have it to remember). 

My husband Rich always says that she never lost the joy or wonder of being a little child.  She was the oldest little girl we knew. The way she would eat a cheeseburger, or drink a strawberry shake, or eat pie—like it was the first time she had ever tasted one, enjoying every morsel and drop. She was always grateful for food. Maybe that’s because she had so little as a child. Getting an orange in your Christmas stocking was a big deal to her (I always felt humbled knowing I asked for a stereo for Christmas). If you gave her a present, she would carefully unwrap it and screech with delight at whatever you got her, “Oh, how did you know? You always pick the perfect gift! You really know me.” She loved parades, the zoo, and the movies. She loved hats and dressing up for parties. I love all those things too because of her. Gram loved my husband Rich. I think she had a schoolgirl crush on him because he paid such doting attention to her and they had such interesting conversations together. 

Gram had the conscience of a child. If she did something wrong, or even told a story about something she had done wrong decades ago, she did so with a genuine sense of shame and candid admission of her faults. Yet she’d state, “It’s just easier to be good than bad. I could never be bad because I’m not that smart. You have to have your wits about you to be bad. It’s not worth it.”

I know when people die, they often get promoted to ‘halo or saint status’. G.G. was not a saint.  She had her faults. I saw them more as she got older and her short-term memory faded. Once Kevin and I saw her outright reject her friend Polly for not coming to visit her. “She’s not my friend. Not now, maybe later.” We had to tell her that Polly was just there for a visit, we saw her. But G.G. had already forgotten and it caused her many problems. She had a temper like a little child. If she got mad or upset (which was very rare) she would pout, and become stubborn (Hmm? I wonder where I got that trait?).  She got hurt easily and didn’t have the skills to work through conflict and resolve issues—so she typically avoided conflict resolution altogether. I’m sure she saw our faults too, but loved us anyway. That’s what family does. Another time she completely turned her back on me when I told her she was being unfair and less than kind to someone in the family. It took a long time to coax her out of her sullen mood.  We all have two sides of our personalities when we are triggered, insecure, jealous, fearful, or angry. The older I got, I saw those two-sided personality days. It impacted me deeply to see her be unkind or unfair once in a while. It actually rocked me to realize that my beloved grandmother had feet of clay.

 In fact, before she lost her short-term memory, there were two years where I privately wrestled with how Gram’s flaws impacted our entire family (including me). For a couple of years I was secretly angry with her and wanted to have hard honest conversations about our family issues (and her part in them). And yet, not all of the family dynamics were her fault. I just didn’t know how I could make our family whole without her help. I was never going to hold a mirror up to G.G. and get her to look at herself. I knew she wasn’t open to discussing things that were broken. That is the family rule: You don’t disagree ‘or else’ (‘or else’ usually means people walk off into the sunset or you’re written off). I never understood that and that’s what made me mad. In my mind, if you have a problem, you process it fairly on both sides. That thinking was naive of me (I tend to think anything can be worked out with humility and love.) G.G. never knew I needed to process my feelings, or that I was angry with her for not being proactive as the matriarch of our family.  I showed up every month anyway and was blessed when I learned to look past her faults. It taught me to choose to move forward when things get rough in any relationship. My mantra is talk it out and everyone be nice or just let it go ‘for Pete sake’.

G.G was the one person who invested in me and always made me feel like she wanted me around. Hours would pass in the garden, down by Lake Michigan, or in her little studio apartment talking about everything under the sun.  The day my 80-something year old grandmother told me ‘I like sex’ I knew we were related (we laughed until we cried).  No topic was taboo. We are so similar in many ways. She was spunky and outspoken. You’d get her opinion or advice even if you didn’t ask for it. And even though I didn’t get some defined religious legacy or blessing passed down to me. I learned how religious people could hurt people (so much so that they won’t trust religious people or institutions). She had the faith of a mustard seed, and my understanding is that this is all that is required in God’s mind.

Today (March 15, 2012) we had Rainbow Ice Cream shipped overnight from the Southside of Chicago. But not just any ole ice cream: Orange sherbet, pistachio, Palmer house vanilla w/cherries and walnuts, strawberry, and chocolate all in one. I still have the porch pad we used to sit on in Evergreen Park as we eat our ice cream (after we ate all of our dinner of course). Tonight--in your honor G.G.--Mike and I will eat cheeseburgers and devour our Rainbow ice cream tonight. I know that you’d laugh at me for singing the song you taught us as kids “I scream, you scream, we all cream for ice cream.”  

In the last 4 years since my grandma has been gone, I miss those geyser eruptions of joy the moment you walked in the door. I miss Gram’s cackle laugh. I miss her lily of the valley scent. I miss her hands (they were soft and fragile). I miss her praise. I miss telling her about Kevin or my life. I miss her saying, “Kimmie, you are a treasure” (I heard her say that to everyone.) I miss all our talks about the historical past and the present. I miss her encouragement. I am beyond grateful to God that I got to be apart of her life for 44 years and how she influenced me.

“So Lord, tell G.G. Happy 100^th Birthday from me. And that I love her a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, and that I will always remember her.”

Death to me and my Smoochy

I can’t sleep. That’s what I get for drinking Ooolong tea all day. I’ve been laying here doing breath exercises, which always make me fall asleep. Except, not tonight—caffeine wins. Everything is quiet. Even Rich’s snoring has finally lapsed into the stillness of delta sleep. Our world is at peace.

Rich is sleeping on his side with his back towards me and his head sticking out from the covers. I think about how I’ve been sleeping with this man for 25 years. I wondered how many more years God is going to give us? There I go again, wondering about the end of us. Death isn’t something that I customarily preoccupy myself with very often. Why? Because it scares the shit out of me. 

My earliest thought about death was in my pre-teens. I had this irrational fear that I wouldn’t live past 37 after finding a spider under my pillow. Yet 37 came and went. I was devastated in high school when classmate, Tommy Johnson, died in a terrible car accident. I worked with Tommy. A week earlier we drove downtown in his Triumph to visit our Chicago affiliate health club. He was laughing and smiling one week, and the next week he was in a coffin. He was such a likeable guy, with gorgeous looks and a personality that claimed he’d go places someday. But he never did. I couldn’t fathom the terminating blow of his death. He’d never get married or have kids or go on to be somebody.

A few more childhood friends died by my early twenties and it never got easier to understand. My uncle Bob died of AIDS in his 40’s. There was a stigma surrounding his death but I never cared; I loved him. He was the first person I remember making me laugh. By the time he died, I had a spiritual base of heaven and the afterlife, and that gave me some solace. However, his witty presence would be sorely missed in a family needing some levity to lighten the heaviness of our dysfunctional interactions.

I was in the room when Rich’s mom passed away of liver cancer. I told myself I wanted to be there with her. For some strange reason I was unafraid, and I wanted her to be unafraid too. There were extra nursing duties that she needed that I felt honored to be able to do for her. Evelyn was given 10 days to prepare for her death (although the first two days she was in denial until Rich had to break the news to her that she was going to die. And the last two days she was in a coma). It wasn’t an easy 10 days. In fact, it was horrible until she lapsed into her coma. Thank God for morphine. She said goodbye to all her sons (she waited until they all flew in from all across the country). She said goodbye to her grandchildren and daughter-in-laws. And finally she said goodbye to her husband. I overheard her say to him, “You’ll be okay.” We all knew Grandpa Brandt wouldn’t be okay. The last things she said to Rich and I was, “Take care of each other.” It was something we both needed to hear early in our marriage. The afternoon she died the Cubs and the Sox were playing the Cross-town Classic on the TV in her hospital room. She loved the Cubs and watched them her entire life. My last words to her were “You can go now Evelyn, the Cubs won.” A half-hour later, her body was at peace. I’m sure somewhere between heaven and earth, her mind and spirit were too.

When my Grandma (G.G.) Melley died, it also came on suddenly (although she was a few days away from being 96-amazing-years-old--so it was expected eventually.). She had shingles that spread into a staph infection and eventually pneumonia. She was in pain too, restless, and not always responsive. I didn’t know what to do so I sang her favorite hymn ‘I Come To The Garden Alone’ over and over. I didn’t want to leave her side but I had to; it could be a few more days until she died. I always wanted to be there with her when she passed away too. She was everything to me. Rich and I held her hands and I prayed close to her face and whispered near her mouth. I wanted to breath more life into her so she’d hold on until I returned. Later my aunt called me to tell me it was time and to come back to the hospital. I missed G.G.’s last breath by 10 minutes. I was so glad that she wasn’t alone; my Aunt Bunny was with her. When I went into the room she was gone. I knew it. Her body lied there still and gray, lips cracked and dry. I reached to hug her. I was told not to touch her because she was still contagious. I didn’t care. They didn’t know that I held her fragile body a few days earlier. I wanted to hold her one last time and tell her how marvelous she was for all her flaws and quirks, and for loving me for all mine (when no one else would). We only had a little time to be with her before we awkwardly had to leave the room. Death has no proper goodbye. I miss her laugh most of all.

Sometimes I’ll be standing outside in the nighttime with the vastness of the heavens above me. It strikes me in a place that I can’t articulate that my days are numbered. One day I’m going to be gone and won’t even be remembered. I won’t know how or when it will happen. Maybe by the time I’m at the point of death in the moment, I won’t be scared. I wonder if I’ll die tragically like Tommy Johnson? Will I fall down the stairs and break my neck and nobody will find me for days? I know, it’s dramatic, but I wonder these things. Rich and I have told the kids that if we die of carbon monoxide poison because we left the stove burner on, it was an accident. We both have a bad habit of forgetting to turn them off. I can only relate in-part to what Woody Allen says, “I’m not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” Yeah, I don’t want to be there when it happens either.  

I have a few scenarios I’d like to put in a request for if I could. Even though it haunts me what Evelyn had to endure, her death was one of the most sacred moments I’ve ever experienced. I’d like to go like Evelyn did (except without the pain). She was surrounded by her family and had a few weeks to say goodbye. I’d like to live well into my sunset years like G.G. and not die alone (dying alone is my greatest fear).

Rich said to me last week, “I want your face to be the last face I see before I die.” I told him that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. I hope I go before him because he promised to give my eulogy and a New Orleans jazz funeral precession, and build a wailing wall. If he should die first (cuz that’s the grand plan) I wonder how it will happen, or how much longer we’ll have together? He travels a lot so I always save his messages until he returns home, just in case. I wonder if I’ll be able to cope without him (and how many cats or dogs I’ll have to get to fill the void and keep me preoccupied). I wonder if I’ll be looking at his side of the bed empty some day in the middle of the night? When I have those thoughts then I find myself getting mad that he doesn’t eat his fruits or vegetables. And I get mad that I was born to begin with because death is so mean, frightening, and unpredictable, and I didn’t ask to be born or to die.

Silent nights with nothing to think about sometimes makes me feel like I’m 12 years old. And as much as I’m comforted by my faith in Christ and assurance of heaven, I’m still pretty freaked out that death is coming one of these days. 

Silence Says It All

My heart is heavy. I could write about any number of superficial things this month but that wouldn't be honest. Even writing about what stings my soul won't make me feel less unburdened. In life, sometimes the prudent thing to do is say nothing (for a while).  

Oh My God, God!

“Well, I might as well tell you, I’m seeing someone”, Kevin rattled off nervously at the end of our dinner together at Grills in Cape Canaveral. I almost leaped up and hugged Kevin, but held myself back. Instead, I looked at Rich and we gave each other a high-five. “See, God answers prayer. I’ve been praying and fasting!” I had been too. I squealed with motherly delight. Kevin had survived a difficult year getting over the one and only girl he thought he’d ever love, Patrice. Ten months ago, Patrice suddenly broke off their four-year relationship. It shattered and confused Kevin. Nobody prepares you for your first real breakup; he just didn’t have the tools. He knew he blew it big time with Patrice. But it was only after losing her that he realized how much he was capable of loving, and how much regret he had for not being the boyfriend she really needed. Kevin and I talked for hours the first couple of months after the split. It pained me to hear him so devastated. There were many good things that came out of Patrice breaking up with Kevin. We both agreed it was necessary for him to be a better person (maybe someday a better boyfriend or husband). However, that didn’t make it easier. I still shutter when I think of how bad it got.

Last summer I went down to FL to see Kevin. I felt like I was on a mission from God (cue the Blue Brother's Peter Gunn Theme in my head). Something told me that I needed to have some face-to-face time with Kevin. I offered to come down there a few times right after the breakup, but he told me he was okay. He was protecting me and minimizing his own personal pain. Rich got down there a couple of times so I felt a little better. However, after Rich’s last visit in May, I knew something was wrong. So I lied about coming down there in June and told him I was taking yoga classes.

Over dinner at Grills in June, he told me with tears in his eyes that on 3 different occasions he put his 9mm gun to his head. I remember grabbing his arm and steadied myself not to start crying so he would keep talking. He was serious as he told me the details of the position of the gun and it’s tight trigger effect. He made it clear all it took was millisecond. The visual in my mind made my stomach turn and my legs weak. Kevin recounted how much physical and emotional pain he was in. He hadn’t slept in months; his back was in constant spasms. He just wanted to get out of pain. I understood what he meant. I’ve visited that dark place before and had my own dark year of the soul. The mind is a fragile place when it has unprocessed grief. Nobody wants to commit suicide they just want out of their pain. After our dinner, I went back to my hotel and called Rich and cried until I fell asleep.

 I knew Kevin was in trouble and still not over Patrice six months after they broke up. I was beside myself with fear and needed to get that gun from Kevin. All I could do was pray. In the morning I got my answer: Go see Danny (Kevin’s dad, who hates me by the way). I needed his support so I could get the gun away from Kevin. I needed back up. Deep down Kevin has always wanted Danny’s approval, so I knew he would listen to his dad.

When I showed up at Danny’s house, Emily (Kevin’s sister) answered the door. I didn’t know if she recognized me. Although, the shocked look on her face meant she probably did. Nervously I said, “Emily, It’s me, Kevin’s mom, is your dad home?” Danny approached the door. He was not happy to see me and stepped outside on the front porch. Trembling I said, “Danny I need your help, Kevin’s in trouble and has tried to kill himself with his gun 3 times.” With that, he dropped the angry look and became Kevin’s dad. Like me, Kevin had been telling his father he was okay when he really wasn’t. I told Danny I wasn’t leaving Cocoa Beach until I got that gun away from Kevin, but I needed Danny to keep it.

Later that day, I told Kevin he was going to give his gun to his dad or I was not leaving. Kev knew me well enough to know it was true. As much as Kevin pushes back on just about everything I say, he knew this was a “don’t mess with mama moment.” I think on some subconscious level, he knew it was necessary. So we drove over to his dad’s house. We all helped Kevin process the latest news that Patrice was also now dating again. The poor kid went from such intense sobs of grief (that the relationship was finally over) to rising waves of anger when he realized that he just wasted so much time hoping (even praying) she’d come back. With that hurtful news, Kevin offered up his gun to his dad.

I will forever be grateful to Danny (and his wife Barb) for those three healing hours. Kevin’s father outwardly put aside his hatred for me. He was present in Kevin’s pain and listened to his son explain many feelings. There were things Kevin needed to say about his anger and what it was like growing up in a divorced family. I kept asking questions and Kevin kept talking. Not many kids have the chance to tell their parents how painful and frustrating it was to be in the middle of their divorce. I hoped that some of that stubborn anger would begin to dissolve. His dad saved Kev’s life by keeping the gun until he got on the other side of this ‘season of hurt’. I know that I was so close to losing my son to his own tortured soul. 

So let’s fast-forward again to the present at Grills Restaurant. Hearing Kevin say with a smile on his face he was seeing someone was wonderful news. Then, without missing a beat he said, “And she’s a dancer at the strip club!” My son is dating a stripper! “We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks and taking things slow.” He recounted how they met and started hanging out. “Here name is Madison.” He said beaming as if her name was as pretty as she was. I sorta forgot for a moment that she was a stripper. I mean, what do you say? He started to show me photos of her (he had to cover her body and just show Rich her face). A million things went through my mind in these few minutes before we left the restaurant. I went to the bathroom, made sure it was empty then actually looked up and said, “You are funny God. Really? You have a great sense of humor. Oh my God, God!!!” 

Could I be loving towards my son’s new girlfriend even though she’s a stripper? Of course, yes! If ever there were two people this girl would be lucky to have as boyfriend-in-laws it was Rich and I. We’ll do everything in our power to look past it; no judgment. Besides, Madison is young and what she does is not who she is. This dear girl is special in the eyes of God and apparently in the eyes of my son. I have no right to judge Madison. I know if I’m honest, I sorta did at first blush. But Lord knows I have my own past. The storyteller in me knows it’s hilarious on some level. All mothers have preconceived ideas of the kind of girls their sons would bring home. Kevin was raised in a very conservative Christian home. We are not right-wing conservatives anymore. Instead, we’ve mellowed out and have far-reaching love for others outside the church--those that usually have no voice or advocates in fundamental Christian circles. Jesus is our example. He hung out with those who were outcasts; those who did things for a living that were questionable.

I’ve long given up burdening my Christian cultural beliefs on Kevin. He’s free to explore his own faith with God. I have a deep trust that God’s got a plan for Kevin’s life; and it’s between the two of them. My job is just to love and accept. Yes, sometimes I’d like Kevin’s life to be neat and tidy so I didn’t have to be praying all the time—worrying about his choices (some of which have been dangerous) unchecked hypertension, guns, underground racing just to name a few.

I had the pleasure of meeting Kevin’s new girlfriend. It was so cute to see them holding hands and sitting close together. I never get tired of watching young love. Madison has the most gorgeous blue eyes. She likes cats, is a vegetarian, and plays the violin. She loves her baby sister and older brother, and is close to her dad and mom. She has more manners than Kevin. I busted out laughing when she slipped with her Southern charm and said ‘Yesss Ma’am!” Madison has a great sense of humor and laughed with us. She was shy, which was natural. I wondered if she wanted us to ask about her job or not? Part of me wanted to just get it out of the way so we could just move on in case she felt worried how we were really feeling. I chose to keep it light and easy. If Madison wanted to talk about it, I’d let her lead the way. I wanted her to know that I could see past what she does and instantly liked her very much. 

Strangely enough, I already feel protective of this new gal. I think about all that Madison has to endure night after night. What kind of negative energy does she take on? As a woman, I know she only does it for the money. I judge the scummy men (my issues) who reduce these beautiful girls into objects of sexual lust for their own immediate gratification. And for whatever reason, she is comfortable with that. I hope Madison will give me a chance to have real conversations with her as time rolls on and she learns to trust us. I hope Kevin warned her that I don’t do superficial very well. I want to get to know what makes her tick. I won’t try to change her; that’s not my job. I truly want to know Madison as a person. And as much as I love my son, I don’t have much in common with him when it comes to all things cars and video games. It would be great to have some female energy around to help balance things out.

As for Madison and Kevin, this relationship will unfold how it’s supposed to; it’s all-new. I hugged Kev as we left Grills and told him, “I just want you to be happy.” If he really knew the truth, the whole stripper thing was a perfect move in God’s playbook to deal with me. He was just lovingly smacking me upside my ‘stereotypical Christian worldview head’ that’s why I think it’s funny. I’ve come a long way from my dogmatic days. Nowadays, the only thing that would have challenged me more was if she was working for Glen Beck. “Oh God, please don’t let her be a Tea Partier! I don’t think I could handle that, especially in an election year!” Just kidding. :-D

(Thank you Kevin & Madison for allowing me to share this story.)

Counting Blessings One By One

 A few years back, (2008), I was given a journal from my dear friend Deb Ritthaler. We were throwing her a big 50^th celebration, when she turned it on us and gave us some gifts to show her appreciation. Tucked inside this leather bound journal was a little something she wrote telling us how much we meant to her. They say ‘love is in the details.’ It was so thoughtful of her to include us in her celebration as she celebrated us.

But at the time, I was going through the hardest year of my life. I had stopped writing all together.  I have lots of journals. Deb knows if I die, she has strict orders to get them out of the safe and out of house immediately and fling them into a deep dark lake or burn them. She is also to take my computer, get all the pictures off it, then sweep it clean and toss it into the lake with the journals, just to be on the safe side. I don’t want anyone to see what my most private thoughts are on a bad day. Besides, they are just thoughts; but the person reading them may not think that. It’s not like I’m Emily Dickenson. So you’re not going to find some amazing writing that will be hailed decades later as profound poetry. No, you’ll think, “Man, she was either a firecracker or on crack!” Sure, there is some good stuff there too; I am passionate about those I love and dislike (I really don’t hate anyone). However, I’m not risking rolling over in my grave knowing that anyone would read one paragraph in any of these journals. Besides, there is no spell check with journals!! I’d die again just thinking of someone reading my dyslexic dribble!!  

 I wondered what would I do with this thoughtful journal from my friend? Would I fill it with more pathetic lamentations? I have a safe full of those kinds of journals. I remembered having dinner with a missionary from Africa whose son had a severe head injury. He told this story how his son lay in the hospital and there was nothing that they could do but wait and pray that the swelling would go down and that he wasn’t brain damaged. In his thick African accent, he told us how he and his wife decided to go bless others out of thanksgiving for what God has done in their life. I was like, “What?” I would have never have left my son’s bedside. I would have been only thinking about my loss, my fears, my desperate prayers, my son. This wise man sensed God reminding him that if he wanted blessings he needs to remember to bless others first. Wow, it was so spiritual. So off he and his wife went to spend time praying with others in the hospital that were also hurting. The blessing of others worked, as God granted his prayers and healed his son who recovered fully. Remembering this story made me realize that I needed to remember to count my blessings one by one. Maybe if I started focusing on what I’m grateful for, I’d feel better? I decided that I would write 5 things each day (or most days) what I’m grateful for. Here are a smattering of actual words on miscellaneous days from 08-to the present.

This is what I wrote for the first time in my new Gratitude Journal on May 1^st 2008: I’m grateful for so many blessings. Even when life can be disappointing or difficult (or I can be disappointing or difficult), each day offers something simple to remind me God’s ‘mercy is new everyday’.

1) A sunny day.

2) Fred let me sleep in.

3) Loving friends.

4) A Myspace message from Carrie (remember Myspace?).

5) Losing 6 pounds.

There are a few themes that are threaded throughout the years: sunny days, Fred, yoga, squirrels, and birds, time with Rich, loving friends, and losing weight.

But there are other things that altered the path of my life.

June 1^st 2008

1) Kevin talked to me during a dark period. He was bold, wise, and caring. He told me I needed to live in the present and stop dwelling on the past, meditate, go live life. (That conversation changed my life!)

2) My brother Mike sent me voice mails that were thoughtful, and one funny email.

3) Rich’s text.

4) Talking to Thomas & Ellen.

5) Rich got me a new bike.

I got through 2008 and learned gratitude was the way to heal.

January 7^th 2009

1) Couldn’t sleep-had a great prayer time.

2) Worked out early-not easy but I’m doing it.

3) Wrote a blog on Israel and Gaza conflict.

4) Psalm 103: 1-6.

5) Jessie Barton got on Facebook. It made my day! She lives in TN. She is a dear friend I miss.

September 23^rd 2009

1) Accepting Change –Like fall is here.

2) Squirrels.

3) Mindful Eating.

4) Knee braces & MRI’s (After our car accident 3 weeks earlier).

5) Walk around the block with Fred.

As time went on, I grew to have a deep sense of appreciation for just about everything.

April 22^nd 2010

1) Mornings when I can putz around.

2) Sushi w/Kimmie Reuter-love that girl! Laughter!

3) Yoga + 14 mile bike ride.

4) Awareness.

5) A husband who is so helpful in every area of my life.

If we had breakfast, lunch or dinner, or talked on the phone, or exchanged a great email, it often ended up in my gratitude journal. How I did so much on some days is a wonder, but I’m grateful I did.

June 22^nd 2010

1) Bing Cherries.

2) Hot walk w/Patti at Moraine State Park.

3) Yoga outside.

4) Encouraging email from Steve McNitt on my writing.

5) Sitting at Crystal Lake on a bench watching the sun set. Peaceful!!

Sept 7^th 2010

1) Day at the Races with Ralph & Patti.

2) Wonderful/helpful neighbors.

3) BG Days-laughing with old friends.

4) Get yoga studio ready.

5) Dog walk with Fred on this glorious day!

Dec 22^nd 2010

1) Sarah’s wedding was lovely.

2) Dancing with my hubby.

3) Going to the movies w/Kevin.

4) Nice evening with Adam & Carrie and April & Ben and the boys.

5) Girlfriends like Pam Story who really knows what I really needed for Christmas. So she sent me 2 martini glasses, a lime, and all the alcohol fixings for Cosmos(+ the recipe).

The years roll on. Some days the things that I’m grateful for are light and airy words. Some days are harder, but what happens mattered, and I’m grateful for the good things.

March 13^th 2011

1) Morning yoga by myself.  

2) Song: Let it Be….there will be an answer…let it be!

3) Too fun: Beatles Rock Band w/Mike & Chris (my brother & sister in law) Our band’s name: Wii-suck.

4) Great Mexican Dinner at La Hacienda in Roselle.

5) Talking w/Kevin 2 hours-Hard to hear him in so much pain (so honest, raw, and pure). Grateful he is letting me in. I pray for peace and for sleep to come to him soon.

March 19^th 2011

1) Brain cells to study and remember.

2) 3 mile walk by myself-contemplative.

3) SUN! I can’t get enough of it.

4) Birds-they fill in the space of silence. Perfect!

5) Interfaith prayer service for Japan. It was an honor to pray with others whose hearts are touched by all the devastation Japan is going though. One God created us all. One God can heal us all too!

July 4^th 2011

1) Seeing Kevin process his grief.

2) Danny helping me get gun from Kevin.

3) Walking along the beach in the morning.

4) Home for Parade & Dinner w/ Jones on the patio.

5) Hanging out at Crystal Lake Fest with Mike and Chris listening to Beatles cover band.

There are more random, mundane moments that I’m so grateful for too.

August 13^th 2011

1) Talked to Kevin for 45 mins-love that kid.

2) Passing my MAS 139 test-Thank you brain cells.

3) Connecting w/Chicks to plan another 50^th birthday celebration.

4) Lake Geneva again-never gets old.

5) Hammock in a tree overlooking the lake studying-AWESOME!

August 22^nd 2011

1) The rare hummingbird appearance.

2) Patio Dinners w/neighbors.

3) 14 mile bike ride this morning.

4) Peaches & Cream.

5) My adoring husband.

November 22nd.

1) Sleeping in

2) Rainy days that keep me inside

3) Cleaning and Organizing

4) Done with 200 hours Yoga RYT

5) Reflecting on the amazing painting of me, God, and Kevin that Jessie created and sent me. 

If I should die, I wouldn’t want anyone to read my old ‘poor me’ journals. I don’t write like that very often anymore. I want this gratitude journal to go to Kevin. Why? It’s the most priceless thing I own. It captures my simple heart and my simple joys and all the amazing people who God has brought into my life who have made a difference to me. No matter what life brings good or bad, I’ve learned there is always something to be thankful for. Thank you Deb for giving me one more journal.

And on this eve of Thanksgiving, I am especially grateful that Kevin who is here and has fought the good fight during his difficult year; for allowing me to write about it (more to come). I’m proud of you. Your mama loves you!      

  

Facebook-Love it or Hate it

Been away, haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been? Have you changed your style? And do you think that we’ve grown up differently? Don’t seem the same since you’ve lost your feel for me.  So let’s leave it alone ‘cause we can’t see eye to eye. There ain’t no good guy, there ain’t no bad buy, there’s only you and me and we just disagree. ~ Dave Mason

Somebody said to me last week in a passing conversation about Facebook, “You live on Facebook!” Wow, perception is everything! I'll confess, I go on Facebook everyday. I’ve been known to leave 10 comments and “Like” 15 different things in five minutes as I scroll down through my news feed. I’ll bop over to Facebook a minute here, a minute there. I’ll be on it longer if I’m privately composing a long message to a friend to catch up. However, according to the almighty twitter thingy in the upper right hand corner, it would seem I live on Facebook. Have other people accused you of living on Facebook? That bugs me! Today I ate lunch by myself and pulled out my iPhone and opened up my Facebook app. It beats smiling awkward at strangers or staring into space by myself at the table.

When it comes to Facebook, I always tell new Facebooker, it's a great place to connect with my old friends, co-works, old and new neighbors, family, and new friends; you get out of it what you put into it. And yet, I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I’ll tell ya what I love and hate about it.

I HATE that new damn twitter thingy. Did you hear me Mark Zuckerberg and all you young whippersnappers at Facebook’s headquarters who thought it was a cool idea. It is like having tick in my right eye. I don’t like that my privacy is gone forever. And if I do comment on someone’s page, it’s “out there” for everyone to interpret whatever he or she wants. Since the FB twitter has come online a few months ago, I noticed that I’ve started to censor myself. I HATE that too. I’m pretty open, bold, opinionate, but I’m also bawdy, bossy and bitchy. I’m a Bible believing Christian (not to be confused with Bible thumping I hope). I’m more in the Anne Lamott category because I’ve been know to swear and I’m a tree-hugging liberal Democrat (I have my reasons why). I’m sure there are people who think that I shouldn’t be in leadership, or have my mouth washed out with soap, or my salvation is in question. You’re probably right, but I’ll take my chances on God’s grace by continuing to be my imperfect self.  I actually had someone on FB question how I could be a Christian and be a Democrat because Republicans are Pro-Life. News flash, I’m Pro-Life too (I just think that ship has sailed and there are other human-right issues.)

Prior to the public voyeurism of my thoughts on the FB twitter feed, my comments were usually private to only those FB friends who ‘knew me’ and ‘get me’. It was okay to put in your two cents in with the safety of being understood because you’re in relationship (to know me is to love me). Nothing irritates me more then seeing people I don’t even know show up in my Facebook News Feed. I don’t care that you ‘Liked’ your dog groomer’s new clippers; I don’t even know her. But I’m glad for your dog. I’m sure you don’t give a rip that I ‘Liked’ my old neighbor in FL when she got a radical new haircut either. Stuff like that makes me miss the days my friend’s Farm Animal or Mafia Wars games used to inundate my news feed.

But this new FB twitter makes me wonder what will all my conservative Republican friends think if they see that I agree with my wonderful, intelligent, friend Mikey about the Occupy Wall Street protest? Probably, here she goes again! What would they think if I re-post something about something debatable in this country? I’ve been sharing my thoughts on social issues for 4 years; its now just more visible. I've commented on everything from the Mosque a few blocks from the World Trade scar, the standoff with Governor Scott Walker of Wisconsin and the unions, the debt ceiling, to Health Care Reform, Immigration, to the killing of an innocent woman in Iran because she showed up at a public protest. And if I post a Jon Steward clip, my FB wall lights up. I'm such a stinker. :-p

What got me thinking about what I love and hate about FB is I so wanted to ‘Like’ a photo Mikey posted with a twenty-something young man holding up a sign at the OWS that said, “I LOVE HUMANITY. LET’S FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT TOGETHER.” I ‘Liked’ that in my mind. That pictures spoke to me for a few days because that what I really feel deep down. But I paused because heavens to Betsy it would come up on somebody’s stupid twitter feed. I appreciated when Tony Campolo called out a conservative Christian audience in 2003 speech when he said, “First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or disease related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don’t give a shit. What’s worse is that you’re more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night.” Yeah, I’m in Tony’s camp. 

What will people think if I agree or comment when my friend Lena says f#%k in her status update because she’s pissed off that her license paperwork got screwed up. Sorry friends, I say that word more then you realize. Frickin, F#^k, it’s all the same to me. Hey, I’ve heard many of you say it to.  The way I look at it, its just punctuation. If I offend you, I sincerely apologize. It is not my intention. I’ve often wondered when Jesus called the Pharisees 2000 years ago ‘a Brood of Vipers’ if he was sorta calling them ‘assholes’. There, I said it!!!

There are a lot of hotly debated topics that come on Facebook. I love it and hate it. Based on our upbringing, our social standing, personality, experiences and beliefs, what we read or watch on TV, we each form our own opinions. What concerns me is that sometimes it doesn’t seem like it’s okay to disagree. We take things personally when people disagree with us. We align with a position—and hunker down. I get it, I do that too sometimes. I sometimes do it with a tone like when I state until my dying breath, I will never ever watch Fox News because Christians have sanctified it as the corner on all political and American truth. I laugh when die-hard Fox watchers say CNN is bias. Ha! Really? I watched Fox  ‘spread’ falsehoods with distorted questioning undertones that steered the public conversation that President Obama wasn’t born in this country, is a socialist, Muslim, and is trying to destroy the country, is against Israel, the list goes on. But just because you watch Fox News, Glen Beck, or like Ann Coulter (who I wouldn’t even share a cab ride with because I don’t think she has the capacity to let other people disagree with her), I’ll still read what you posted from her just to see if she’s mellowed out over the years. She occasionally has a good point. I just don’t think she has the capacity to see that there are two sides of a coin. By the way, I wouldn’t share a cab ride with Democrat James Carvel either because he and Ann are way too dogmatic for me. Lighten up people! Let others have an opinion.

In the next year there will be lots of FB political postings, comments, etc. I enjoy politics like some people like watching the NASDAQ or sports statistics. I have followed politics since I was in 3^rd grade when we did a mock election between Nixon and McGovern at Longfellow Elementary. I put up posters, paper buttons, and campaigned for tricky Dick. See, I was a Republican once.  I just want to put it out there now that I will put my two cents in on Facebook. Why? I can’t help myself because there are two sides of a coin. And all the people have a voice. And if they don’t you can be sure that I’ll say something about it. I hate that I’m sorely out numbered by my Republican friends on Facebook. I appreciate when my Democrat friends come out and bravely wade into a conversation on my wall to help me say things I feel but can’t articulate. I’ll comment because I just want you to know that there are people, even Christians (like me) who feel differently. That doesn’t mean I’m a Socialist or un-American. It doesn’t mean that you don’t matter to me. You do! It just means we don’t see eye to eye on an issue. I have no problem stating my point and listening to you talk about the Tea Party or tea bags. All that matters is that at the end of the day we can be civil and not call anyone names.

What I do love about Facebook? I love that I could have a 5-minute IM chat conversation with my former boss and dear friend Steve in CA. I love that I can see when my friend Jessie, whose let her creative side come forth, posts her artwork on display in the local gallery in her town in TX. I love how I can read real life travel logs and food reviews from Celeste. I love how John and Lori are tied to be the best smart-asses with their wicked, ironic, sarcastic humor on my news feed. I love how I can say to Ann, ‘It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, or that I love her more than my luggage’ and she knows exactly what I mean. I love that your pets are almost as human as you and make me smile (especially Stinky the pitbull and Ditch the wondermut).

When life is bigger than me and I need prayer for something serious, I love that my FB friends will let me know they are praying. I love how my dear friend Craig makes me laugh at least once a day…some days we all need a Craig comment. I love how I can be reminded of young love from Anna, Kensie, Emma, or Nelson. I love that Tamara encourages me to ‘Bring it’ as a new businesswoman. I love how Howie asks thought provoking questions. I love when I don’t have time to watch the Hawks or the Bears, I can usually find out how they’re doing in Real-Time from Mark. I love getting health or yoga tips from my friend Sandy’s newsletter. I love that I get the latest Doppler weather reports from my guy-Tom Skilling.  I love to see a happy married couple like Doug and Kelly share their comments about kids, dates, and wine. I love listening to a posted oldie but goody song from Tom. I love how can cheer from the FB balcony and be in awe for over a year following Monica’s fight with breast cancer or Caleb's battle with leukemia.  

And I have five friends who are amazing photographers: Daniel, Jenni, Tonya, Kristi, and Patti; I love looking at and commenting on their photography. I love when the new babies are born, and dad is gushing. I love how I can learn about a new band from Noah or April. I love that I can tell a girlfriend that her profile pic looks gorgeous or ask what was she thinking. I love getting spontaneous comments on my wall. I love how I can get a recipe, directions, or a computer problem figured out within an hour. I love how we say Happy Birthday to each other. I love to see photos of my grandsons and your grandsons and grandaughters. I love to be reminded that the world is complicated and we all better learn to do a better job of caring for our brother and our neighbor. By the way, I love that I can tell my neighbors that they are the best and appreciated without putting my coat on (they’d think it was weird if I showed up on their front door and said that). I love that I can live vicariously through your posted vacation photos.  

Some people collect purses, but I collect quotes (and hats). I love that everyday somebody posts something meaningful and inspirational that I 'Like'. I love viral YouTube Videos. I’d never have the time to go looking for that stuff…it comes to me. I actually cried hot tears streaming down my face LMAO listening to a German shepherd and his owner have a conversation. I love that I’m not the only one who bitches or is thankful about the weather depending on the day. I love that I can have a cyber drink with my friend Pam…I can almost hear the clink of our glasses. I love that I can disagree about everything except the cubs with Chris and he hasn’t defriended me yet. 

In a world where there is so much divisiveness, distortion, and death. I love that I can experience a little nonsense on Facebook. I know that the only one who can sort this world mess out is God. And unless He returns again (and I hope He hasn’t changed His mind), we are left to experience wonder, accept each other, stay connected, juggle schedules, capture moments, right wrongs, forgive and seek peace, pray for and love the unlovable (including the media, politicians, and presidents-past, present, and future).

So if it seems if I live on Facebook you’d have it all wrong. I just get a lot of life out of Facebook.