Time to Cowgirl Up

The girlfriends are headed to Zona today for our annual trip to Big Sal's gorgeous Western home. A couple of us can't go this year but we're there in spirit.

I was reminded of a western expression this morning. While speaking about the economy and the enormous challenges facing our nation, someone said, "It's time for all of us to cowboy up." I immediately thought of the women pictured above. They have "cowgirled up" in big ways.

Some have dealt with illness and death with parents or in-laws. Some have watched the baby leave the nest. Some have carried the worry load over health issues with loved ones while jumping into action. In the two years since this photo was taken, some of our lives have changed dramatically -- in good ways too. There have been business ventures and new grandchildren. Many happy moments with family and friends. These women, and many others I know, choose to soldier on and they usually do it with a ton of class.

Tomorrow is Obama's inauguration and like millions of people, I will watch and listen. I'm sure his speech will be uplifting but he's given enough statements for us to know it will also be filled with warnings of tough times ahead. Frankly, I feel like I've been cowgirling up for a while now. But I will plod ahead. I may put on my cowboy boots, toast my girls in Zona and psyche myself up for a tougher cowgirl attitude.

Seven Years

In one of my favorite books, "Nineteen Minutes," by Jodi Picoult, she opens with a few sentences about what can happen in nineteen minutes. Some are frivolous and some are profound.

Today is the seventh anniversary of the most devastating terrorist attack on American soil. I'm applying the same logic. In seven years, I've been through the mundane and the scary and the heartbreaking. So have you. Such is life.

Seven years ago:

I had a different dog. Also a maniac.
I had the same husband, the same parents and the same friends.
The baby was 13-years old and had no clue of the magnitude of that day.
I did not turn off the television for one solid week.
The oldies lived in Mississippi and they were those in-laws I visited once or twice a year.

During the past seven years:

I've lost several friends to cancer, car accidents and plain ol' old age.
I've cheered the baby through high school and caught a glimpse of the incredible man he is becoming.
I've held hands with someone having a biopsy and I've had my hand held.
I've witnessed marriages and divorces and welcomed new babies into my circle of love.
I've reconnected with some old friends.
I've screwed up. A lot. Repeatedly.
I've watched attorneys become judges and other people grow businesses.
I welcomed the oldies into our home and learned about love, loyalty and stubbornness.

I've become older, grayer and hopefully smarter. I think my heart has grown. And I will stop today to acknowledge the people who did not get the chance to grow older, grow grayer and welcome new babies.

People With Influence -- Part Two

So many people impact me, even when they have no idea.

That first person, that boy or girl who you dreamt about and pined for ...

Your first love. We all define it differently but I know who mine was and he was definitely an influence.

The aunts and uncles who took you on dates, bought cute clothes for you and put up with you when your parents needed a break. Their influence in my life cannot be calculated. I still call or email and ask, "Will you help me?"

The cousins who forget that you're not a sibling. They drop what they're doing and say, "What can I do?" I have a cousin who occasionally sends emails to his family. It's his wife, mother and siblings. Somehow, I made the list and I get a little giddy whenever I see my name on the family list. Another cousin with an extremely busy life manages to make me feel important and relevant. She confides in me. And, she lets her daughter visit -- knowing I'm probably a bad influence.

The animals (okay -- technically, not people) who run to you, slather you with kisses, do the "I'm so happy you're here" dance.

Neighbors. We've all gotten so wrapped up in ourselves that we can forget to be good neighbors. I like it when a neighbor calls to say, "There's someone in your yard, is he supposed to be there?" I grew up in an environment where neighbors looked out for each other.

The children. Busy with their own lives and their own struggles. Yet, they manage to find time to email, phone or text. Somewhere in there is a message of love.

Grandparents. If you're lucky enough to still have them: hug them. call them. Soak up their love and their knowledge. (Ask them for money.)

In-laws. I miss the Captain and the Belle. They influenced me in a great and profound way.

Oldies. Take a lesson from me. Help that old woman with her groceries. Ask that man if he needs help across the street. Listen to their stories. You're not doing them a favor -- you're getting an education.

The husband. Maybe you have one of those marriages where you never disagree, you never get on each other's nerves and you never break a promise. I don't. I have a marriage that keeps me on my toes. (I tried it the other way -- I got bored.) I like learning from my spouse. If nothing else, he keeps me interested.

Don't Forget the Old Days

During a friendly chat last night, a friend of ours was lamenting his unending fear of the dentist. There was a little nervous laughter and then he explained.
"If I sat in his chair as a 6-year old in 1945 and he was roughly 70-years old, that means he went to dental school in the 1800s. How current was he?"

One of my brothers-in-law is a dentist. I wish he didn't live 4 hours away because we all want to go to him.

I'm pretty sure the daughter and the baby have not witnessed laundry run through the ringer and hung on the line to dry. Microwave popcorn is older than the baby. I grew up with plumbing in the house but visits to relatives occasionally involved outhouses. They also involved fun things like swimming in a lake, sitting around a bonfire and actually discussing things. No one had an electronic device plugged in an ear or molded to their palm.

Dentistry is painless and routine to our children. Don't I sound like an oldie?

My childhood/early adulthood dentist was a hip-hopping dude in the 70s. He wore psychedelic shirts and multiple gold chains. He was not patient friendly but he did freely dispense nitrous oxide for fillings. I found out later that he enjoyed hauling a tank of it to parties and enhancing the atmosphere with a mood-altering substance.

In the early or mid 80s, I was with a group of girlfriends celebrating a new job for one of them. He approached our table and he was still wearing his gold chains and a loud shirt. Thankfully, he was not carrying a tank. We did not bite. (or spit.)

Why I live in Indiana

After Hangdog's funeral, my favorite cousin-in-law gave a small book to the husband. The title is "Why I live in Mississippi ... 101 Dang Good Reasons." The author is Ellen Patrick. It's a lively tribute to the south and I recommend it.

I won't give you 101 reasons why I live in Indiana, but I'll give you a few:

I was born and raised here.

My parents and friends are here.

The seasons change --we witness winter, spring, summer and fall.

The state fair.

Indiana corn and tomatoes.

Elvis performed his last concert here. (Don't tell me I have no southern connections!)

On national television we are portrayed as buffoons. It's my personal mission to correct this image.

We play Euchre.

College Basketball and Professional Football.

Did I mention corn and tomatoes?

We have multiple weirdos from our state: Michael Jackson and Jim Jones (don't drink the Kool-Aid) --just to name a couple.

Our baby senator (Dan Quayle) became Vice President. Potato or Potatoe?
Our baby governor (Evan Bayh) is now on the short list for possible vice presidential candidates.

Hoosier hospitality. It's not a myth.

The husband and I love to travel. I also like the feeling when I'm back home again in Indiana.

Silver Linings -- A New Friendship

We buried the Belle and Hangdog within 60 days of each other. I still can't believe it.

As depressing as it is, there are times when I can take comfort in blessings. The oldies are no longer in pain or in peril. I believe they are together again.

Another personal blessing has been an unexpected friendship with my cousin-in-law. She's beautiful, talented and accomplished. She has the biggest heart of anyone I've met in years. She is extremely interesting and gracious enough to express interest in everyone else. She asked me repeatedly, "Are you ok?" I was afraid I was growing horns or something else so I ran to the restroom. No horns, just more wrinkles and frown lines.

This friendship is relatively new so I don't know all of her stories. I know she's experienced quite a bit of loss and she handles it with class. It's like I'm in kindergarten during story hour -- I am enthralled.

She also has a delightful and slightly devilish sense of humor. At Hangdog's funeral, she stood in front of the husband and me. Sharing memories of the oldies, she said, "They loved to come to my house because I would let her fry or cook whatever she wanted as long as she made me tomato gravy."

I definitely do not want the recipe for tomato gravy.

When I left Mississippi, she gave me a book, "Girlfriends are Forevah." I've always known that but I didn't expect to find a new girlfriend through this ordeal.

An added bonus is every time she says my name she sounds like the Belle.

The Last Day

I was wearing a paper party hat and celebrating a girlfriend's birthday when I received the call that Hangdog did not survive his surgery. Maybe that counts as a bonding moment. He was wearing a paper surgical hat and I was wearing a "Happy Birthday" cone hat. I spoke to my brother-in-law numerous times that day. Right before surgery, I asked that he give Hangdog a kiss from me and tell him I love him. I have every confidence that this request was honored.

Two of my brothers-in-law were here when I returned home. A little of the shock had worn off and I went into Sheri-the-Reporter mode. I needed details.

Prior to receiving the "drowsy" drugs that are administered before surgery, Hangdog vacillated between lucid and having visions. Here's a little snippet of that time:

He envisioned himself fishing, one of his favorite activities. He described how clear and calm the lake was and the beauty of the scene.

He got nervous and agitated. He told my brothers-in-law that they would be nervous too if they were going home.

He wanted to stand up. When one of the boys said, "Daddy, you can't stand up because your hip is shattered," his reply was, "Then you'll both have to help me. I'm packed and ready to go."

More than once, he asked "Who is that man with a beard?"

You can interpret things many ways. I know what I see.

Grateful

I almost cannot remember a time when the oldies didn't live here. That sounds crazy but it's been an all-consuming whirlwind. Between various oldies chores, writing directions, dealing with doctors and just inhabiting the same house, my habits and expectations have changed.

Here's a good example: At noon, I asked my brother-in-law and his wife what we should have for dinner. This is the Belle speaking through me. Three years ago, my first thought about dinner wouldn't have hit until at least 5:00 PM. And that would only be true if I was worried about going to the grocery store. If I had groceries or leftovers or the possibility of going out, that thought could wait until about 7:00 PM. The oldies have reprogrammed me.

I almost cannot remember when the dungeon and the basement weren't overrun with oldie gizmos (which, of course, Hangdog was entitled to have.)

The wheelchair, canes, walkers and other aids will go. I hope they help someone else. We still have handicap bars in several bathrooms. That's not going to change.

When it comes to in-laws, there seems to be two camps. You know them well and they are a part of your every day life. Or, they are semi-strangers that you visit with on obligatory holidays and special occasions. I've lived it both ways with the oldies.

When the husband and I first lived in sin, his mother warned him about me. (For the record, she had never met me but she was skeptical.) After we married, she was kind and gracious. She also took no time at all to let me know who was in charge of her boy. We did holidays and anniversaries. It was a dance of two determined women fighting for various roles. We both lost battles; we both won some too.

We pretended to know each other and love each other for many years. We swapped family stories and photos. We teased each other and grew a little closer. But she had other daughters-in-law. I saw myself as someone she grew to like and eventually love but her plate was full. Until ...

The husband was dealing with Hangdog post-surgery and I was taking her to chemo. We traveled many miles. (My personal favorite memory is when she would fall asleep in the car after chemo and I had absolutely no clue how to find my way back from the doctor's office in Memphis to their house in Mississippi.) But we did it and now it seems like a bonding moment.

Eventually, they moved here and lived with us. Their lives and our lives were exposed. Everyone says that you can't know what goes on inside a marriage unless you're part of it. That's only partially true. Two married couples living in the same household ... well, let's just say, there are few secrets. She knew immediately if the husband was getting on my nerves and I could tell by her tone if Hangdog was making her crazy.

If things had panned out differently, I could've been one of those daughter-in-laws who performed the obligations. I could've been the one doing the parade wave out the car window, "See you next year!"

Instead I'm the daughter-in-law who received the gift of the oldies. For all my bitching, I learned so much. (And a lot of it sent me over the edge.) I didn't know you could be married 60+ years and still find something to fight about. I didn't know you could change your tone of voice and calling someone "Honey" or "Love" could come out as an insult. Yep, that's the way it works.

I make lots of mistakes. Living with the oldies wasn't one of them. I'm grateful for the gifts.

Wacky Relatives

If you show me a family that doesn't have some wacky relatives, I will come to your house and polish your floors. We all have them. Let's stop pretending.

My cousin (in-law) called me a Yankee recently. I haven't decided if she's right or not. I'm not sure it can be defined. I land in both camps.

In the husband and my extended families, we have our fair share of wackos. Yankees get stoic and pretend it's just a phase. Southerners prop them in a chair, put a drink in their hands and encourage the stories. (They usually include a slice of pie.)

Many years ago, we had a relative visit us. The husband pulled me in the kitchen and said, "She's a little affected, isn't she?" I said, "Yes, but the stories are great."

Exes

If you live in my city and I have known you for any length of time, chances are that I run into your ex.

It doesn't have to be an ex-spouse. Many times it's someone you dated. And trust me, that person wants to ask about you.

Big Daddy's exes are my wives-in-law so running into each other is not a problem. We plan it. We look forward to it.

People slip into a comfortable vocabulary, i.e. "my ex-husband or my ex-boyfriend." Does that negate the rest of the relations? Are they ex-stepchildren? Do brothers and sisters-in-laws become exes? It can get quirky. I need the relationship with my first in-laws. Big Daddy is still very close to his brother-in-law from his first marriage. The legal status may change but the love does not.

Several years ago, we went to hear my (ex)brother-in-law perform. We do this several times a year. I was standing in line for the restroom and a lady asked me how I knew the family. I answered, "I am family." It completely freaked her out. Some people live a much more sheltered life than I do.

A Minister's Wife

I have been privileged to know many wives of ministers. I realize that women can also be ministers but in my life experience, most of my ministers have been men.

Minister's wife looks a lot like the role of First Lady. No pay but a lot of work.

The chances of me in the position of minister's wife are slim and none. (And Slim left town.)

My aunt was a Methodist minister's wife for several decades. She managed to support her husband and the interests of his many congregations while keeping her own interests, opinions and career goals. Oh, somewhere in the middle she birthed and raised four children. When she married this man, he was a successful salesman. The calling to the ministry came later. She didn't sign up for it but like most successful people, she adapted and did it with aplomb. Now, he has passed away. She continues to support her church, his charities and interests. She does it her way.

Many, many years ago, I was in college and they were visiting my parents. I was in a phase where I liked to ask provocative questions. (I've never really outgrown that stage.) She answered my questions but she prefaced her response with, "My answers may surprise you." She was not afraid to have an opinion.

My cousin (in-law) was our angel during the funeral/travel arrangements for the Belle. The husband refers to her as his honorary sister. She is a minister's wife. She is also a mother and works full-time. While she is extremely supportive of her husband, she does not hesitate to exert her influence or share her opinion.

Women like this take traditional roles and break the mold. They show the rest of us how to do it with dignity. I'm taking notes.

The Only Man I Love

One of my teenage friends recently said to me, "He's the only man I love."

After I stopped rolling my eyes and holding my side, I explained my perspective: You will love many men.

If you're lucky, your first male love was and continues to be your father.

Grandfathers make some pretty great loves. Plus, they let you get away with a lot.
I've never had a brother but I've always wanted one and I understand their love is a bond that no one should mess with.
Uncles are one of life's greatest gifts.
Male friends will protect and honor you.
You never know when a brother-in-law will turn out to save you.
You will have a first love, maybe some middle loves and hopefully, a forever love.
Someday you might have a son. Tell me then about only loving one man.

The Belle had four sons and loved them all with a passion. She also loved the Captain. Movies and books simplify love and life. It's not simple; it's extremely messy. But love abounds and like her, I love a lot of men.

House of Cards

When I was a child, several of my friends used to play that game where you built a structure out of playing cards. Sometimes the house would get pretty tall but it only takes one slip up for it all to come crumbling down.

The oldies were heartbroken when they had to sell their home in Holly Springs, MS. They understood the logic and they were grateful to us but it was hard. From Indiana, the husband coordinated with various repair people, as well as constant conversations with the Realtor. We (along with his brother and sister-in-law) made numerous trips to Mississippi to pack, clean, haul, etc. (I've told you how much stuff she packed into the dungeon. Imagine 30-plus years of stuff in this house. Now double it.)

Still, I was sympathetic to the loss of their home, their town, their beloved neighbors and friends. One of the gifts I bought for the mother-in-law this Christmas was the book, "Home to Holly Springs" by Jan Karon. She never got to read it.

The reason I'm thinking of this today is we are pushing mid-February. About 8 months ago, the oldies took a trip to visit friends and relatives in Mississippi. They returned and requested a family meeting -- never a good sign. They informed us that they had signed a contract to build a house in a new subdivision in Sumrall, MS. (Very close to Hattiesburg, where she was from.)

The Belle was strong willed but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. The husband went a little crazy. In addition to the financial risks and the lack of a nearby VA facility, his constant argument was this: "It's a house of cards. It's one fall or one car accident or one medical emergency away from complete disaster." Somehow, he managed to convince her that this real estate deal was an extremely bad idea. Somehow, he let her believe it was her decision. Then he got to deal with the builder, more attorneys, etc. and unravel this disastrous deal. Plus, get their money back.

If the deal had proceeded, this is the week the house was supposed to be done.

She did go home to Mississippi. Just not the way she planned.

Slippers

I have a bizarre fondness for slippers. The first thing I do when I come home is change out of my shoes and put on some slippers. I have found myself in the grocery store or the drug store wearing slippers because I forgot to change.

The dog shares my love for slippers. She's constantly going into my closet and running around with a slipper like she's won a great prize.

The husband and I were going through the mother-in-law's clothing items this weekend. I kept one turtleneck sweater.

I also kept most of her slippers. My supply was running low and I'm pretty sure she wanted me to have them.

The Captain

You're used to me referring to the father-in-law as Hangdog or the Unabomber. With respect to his military training, our physician (and saint-in-training) always calls him "Captain."

Today, the husband and his brother picked up the Captain at the Home. They explained the situation and headed to the hospice facility. The baby came home from college and we met them there. Our doctor was there because no one knew what to expect. Would he faint? Would he have a heart attack? Would he have medical questions about her condition?

He handled it like a trooper. (I swear I should've had some military training.) He kept the stiff upper lip and tried to talk to her. Then he decided she wasn't answering him so he accosted the doctor with all of his various ailments. That's the Hangdog I know and love!

This was probably the Captain's last visit with his wife. He's handling the transition much better than expected. He wants to know what's going to happen to him. That's normal and expected.

This was a tough day for the baby. And, I do remember my turn when my own grandparents were dropping like flies. I threw my arms around the baby so many times today that I'm sure he wanted to say, "Get off of me, Fungus!"

Captain is back in the Home. The phone call circle has begun.

Writing an Obit

In Journalism school, one of your first assignments is learning to write an obituary. It's good writing experience, plus you learn to do a little research. Every journalist (with credible training) has written numerous obits.

The husband (the boss of me) is handing out assignments. Call this person! Figure this out! Then he said, "Would you please start a draft of her obituary?"

I am a writer by trade but in this moment, I am the daughter-in-law. I'll do it for Big Daddy but I am struggling. I do not want to write about her military experience, her nursing career, her stellar ability to maneuver wifedom and motherhood. Here's what I want to write:

She

is the ultimate southern belle.
Trying to out cranky each other made us laugh and cry.
She's a clothes horse and I will miss watching her shop or try on clothes.
There is no wife on earth who has been a more fierce protector of her husband.
She's been the "leap the fence" kind of Mom and Grandma.
Her huge family always knows that the sister is there for them any time.
She is cute, kicky and sassy.

She did not give birth to me but I am losing a mom.

So, I must get back to the regular obit. We probably won't include much of the above. But, I've said it.

Running into People

I swear Big Daddy knows every person in this city, the Midwest, and various other cities. I learned long ago to either step it up a notch or be prepared to be without makeup, clad in sweats and run into several people we know. A lot of these people don't really know me, they just know me as the wife of someone they know.

Usually I get caught at the drug store or the grocery store. Those are the destinations I am most likely to run to without giving a thought to my appearance. I don't think I've been in an airport in my life without running into someone I know but at least when traveling, I've made a minimal attempt at being presentable.

Yesterday, Big Daddy was taking Hangdog to the Home. I went to visit the mother-in-law. Still in sweats, not a stitch of makeup on my face. (She wouldn't notice or care.) I brushed my teeth and ran a brush through my hair. That's about all I could manage.

I ran into Cynthia. Thank goodness she is my friend.

I can give up worrying about running into people in the grocery or the drug store. Now that we have two places to visit, I am guaranteed to run into someone I know at one of the Homes.

Timing

I'm doing laundry and trying to coordinate packing for Hangdog who is headed to the Home. It's not politically correct but let's be real, that's what it is.

The mother-in-law is still in a different facility. Eventually, they might (might!) be together but it's not looking like any time soon.

She's in the Cadillac. He's headed for the Ford Taurus. There's nothing wrong with it, it's just not as deluxe. Unfortunately, she doesn't appreciate it. We'll be making some decisions soon and I'm terrified she's just plain given up.

What should we do with the stuff? I don't want to make any rash decisions. But, I have a car in my driveway, a basement full of wheelchairs, walkers, vision machines, shower chairs and more. At what point do you turn this stuff in so it can be useful to someone else? There's a storage facility in Texas with some of their things. At what point do we say, "Donate it or sell it."

When I went off to college, my parents kept my childhood room. Then the guest room became my mom's office and my bedroom became the guest room. This made sense to me but I imagine it was much harder for them than for me. My aura must still permeate those walls because whenever I walk in there, it's still my room.

I'm itching to go in the oldie's room and fumigate, plus get rid of the gizmos and clutter. It's too soon.

The Placebo

My sister-in-law has offered to send me a nurse's cap. She's also the one who gave me the placebo idea.

I'm very nervous about narcotics. I'm diligent about the necessary medications, i.e. heart, thyroid, etc. I'm even ok with the nerve pills. But, I keep the narcotics locked in the safe in my office. Hangdog asks for a pain pill several times a day and I know this is partially due to pain, partially due to habit and partially due to the fact that he knows there are some in this house. I refuse to give him one just because he's bored, lonely or can't sleep. I've earned the nurse's cap -- I can assess the situation in about 10 seconds.

Instead of arguing or trying to reason with him, I've found a new approach: I give him a TIC TAC. Every time I've done this, he informs me the next morning that it was the best night's sleep he's had in weeks.

If all goes according to plan, he will be moving to the "facility" today. I must remember to tell them my TIC TAC plan.

My New Favorite Expression

The brother-in-law taught me this expression during their visit:

You can't argue with stupid.
They just drag you down to their level
And then beat you with experience.

I can be smart; I can be stupid. I can be as tenacious as any dog with a bone. I seem to deal with a lot of people who overcomplicate situations so I love this expression.

If anyone knows who coined this little phrase, please let me know.