Mona and Me

I have an old horse, Mona.  We don’t know her exact horse age (around 33-36 years old).  In people years Mona would be somewhere between 90 and 105. We call her bony Mony because she is skin and bones and refuses to put on any weight.  Mona still gets around well considering her age.  Occasionally, she might even gallop (really a slow trot) in the pasture.   I was watching her in the pasture today and I had to laugh when she took off after one of the other horses.  Every time Mona’s back legs hit the ground she backfired.  It sounded like she had a pellet gun strapped to her behind. 

As I watched Mona, it reminded me of, well, me!  I get out of bed in the morning and the walking farts practically propel me to the bathroom.  It’s not just the farting problem that plaques old biddies like me and Mona.  Come to think of it, I wonder if anyone has ever done a study on whether old female horses have bladder control issues?  I’ve never seen Mona laugh, but I bet she’d pee herself if she did!   I don’t think it’s just me that has these problems.  Some of my closest friends have admitted that they are considering buying stock in bladder control products.  No one wants to admit to the farting problem but I know it exists because I’ve walked behind a group of old people and it sounds like the orchestra trumpet section warming up.  If it’s not old age, then it must be heredity because my much older sister seems to have some exhaust issues as well. 

Just the other day we were leaving a restaurant when my 250 lb. brother-in-law, John, took a dive off a short step.   He didn’t see the step and went flailing into another table of diners.  I cannot find the words to describe the look of terror on their faces as John was hurling himself headfirst into their salads.  It was a scary scene – to say the least.  John’s fall was broken by a quick thinking man at the table who attempted to catch him.  Luckily, the man was able to maintain some semblance of control and did not end up under John as he face planted on the ground.  Thankfully, the only thing John injured was his pride.  After assuring the manager that John wasn’t going to sue the restaurant, we made a discreet exit.

By the time we got to the sidewalk, my sister, Lorraine, and I had started to laugh (we just couldn’t help ourselves).  My daughter, Lulu, gave me a sharp look and told me I’d better stop laughing right away.

  “Mom!” she reprimanded, “You know what happens when you laugh too hard!” 

Well, as soon as Lulu reminded me of my laughing problem, my sister started hiccupping which made us all laugh harder.  We looked like a bunch of drunks who couldn’t hold our liquor as we laughed our way to the parking lot.  When we reached the parking lot, my sister started farting.  Every laugh and hiccup was followed by a fart.  This, of course, caused me to laugh even more.   I just couldn’t stop myself and, despite wrapping my legs in knots, I peed my pants.  It was humiliating!  There we stood - Lorraine laughing, farting and hiccupping and me laughing and peeing while Lulu and John looked desperate to escape the whole scene.  They quickly took off for the car leaving Lorraine and I in the middle of the parking lot unable to move for fear of farting and peeing even more.  Thankfully, no one was around to witness this humiliation.

John must have felt bad for us because he pulled the car up and asked if we needed a ride.  Lulu had put plastic over the back seat so I could sit.  Lorraine and I managed to throw ourselves in the car – still laughing.  Lulu looked mortified and John sarcastically commented that he was glad we all had a good laugh at his expense. 

“Hey, Lulu.”  I said, “Do you think Mona pees herself when she laughs?” 

“Mommmmm!”  Lulu rolled her eyes. “You’re embarrassing!” 

Maybe I am embarrassing.  Maybe I do have a few plumbing issues.  But, at least I can laugh about it.  I can laugh all I want and fart and pee as much as I want because I have an AARP card and I’ve done my time.  Come to think of it, Mona and I have a lot in common.  I bet if I trotted around the pasture, I’d sound like a pellet gun too.  And, frankly, I don’t give a damn!

Txt Me

All we do these days is txt. We hardly ever speak to each other on the phone or in person. I txted my daughter the other day and felt like I was writing in a forin language: OMW. See u soon. Luv u. 

Wht has happnd to the English language? My daughter used to be a great spller. Now, she needs help spelling simple wrds. I cant imagine why ths has happened to her. It seems all her friends hav the same prblm. 

She is takng the FCAT writing test this week, and she is nervous that she wont pass. I tld her to txt me whn she's done and let me no how she did. IDK, but im sure she'll do just fine.

The Present

I used to think that I didn’t have an answer for people when they’d ask me how I know there is a God.  I struggled with this question my entire life.  It wasn’t until I reached my 40’s that I think the question became more pressing.  I may not have the best answer to this question but I do have one answer that has clarified God for me.  God isn’t just a “He” to me anymore.  God isn’t a being in the sky or an omnipotent power that controls my thoughts and actions.  No, God has been revealed to me in so many ways that I cannot define “Him” as just “Him”. 

Perhaps this story will convince others that God is real, perhaps it won’t, but it is a story worth telling because it convinced me of His mighty power to answer our prayers - especially when we least expect it. 

Anyone who has read my blog knows that my husband and I haunt flea markets and auctions on a regular basis.  We take bargain hunting to a whole new level – even attending a garage sale on our wedding day (ok, maybe it was just Bill attending the garage sale, but you get the drift).  So, auctions are in our blood so to speak.  It doesn’t matter the town or state, if there is an auction around, you can bet we’ll sniff it out.  From Florida to New Jersey, and every state in between, we have found treasures galore!

NJ is where our roots are, but Florida is where we planted ourselves 26 years ago.  About eight years ago I made a very special trip to NJ to visit my mother’s grave.  It was the first time that I visited her grave since her death in 1960. It took me years to discover the name of her cemetery because her death, her very existence, was something that was never spoken of in our family.  I don’t think anyone can truly comprehend the struggle I’ve experienced over my mother’s death.  For most of my life I harbored bitterness over losing her and not knowing anything about her.  When I visited her grave I made a promise to God and to myself that I would move on and spend time with the living.  I left my heavy heart at the cemetery that day and returned home with peace in my soul.

In fact, I wrote a story about that trip on this blog: Be Still. 

Now, more than ever, I believe that it was perfect timing that brought me to her grave eight years ago and it was perfect timing that brought me to the auction in FL shortly after I visited her grave.

The auction house was one that we frequented regularly.  On this night, they were auctioning the entire estate of a Time-Life photographer who hailed from North Jersey.  I don’t know how his estate ended up in Cape Coral, FL, but it was clear that this was his private collection of photographs and the collection completely filled the auction house.

There was one gentleman at the auction that was bidding on every photograph.  No matter how high the bidding went, super bidder (the name Bill and I dubbed him) clearly had unlimited cash.  He undoubtedly had a vested interest in winning back the entire collection and wasn’t about to let even one item slip from his grasp.  We quickly discerned that it was useless to bid against this guy.

Towards the end of the auction we made our way back to the box lots where we figured we had a chance to bid on something – anything.  It wasn’t like us to leave an auction empty handed, after all.

While Bill was busy buying his share of box lots, I was eying a briefcase shoved under the table.  I assumed everyone’s attention was diverted by the current booty up for bid, so I stealthily pulled it out and opened it to find more Time-Life photographs.  Before I had a chance to sneak the case back under the table, super bidder appeared at my side.  I did my best to pretend the case was devoid of anything worthy of a bid but I think I may have blown my cover by my reaction to his looming presence.

 “Oh, just a bunch of old papers in that thing.”  I stammered as I shoved the case back under the table, “Nothing I’d be interested in.” 

His glare told me that he wasn’t buying it for a minute.  I knew then that he had seen the contents of the briefcase and any hope of my owning it vaporized in that realization. 

Well, to make a long story short, every item in the box lots that had even one photograph was bought up by super bidder.  I had resigned myself to not getting the briefcase but I decided to bid on it anyway. 

It was the very last thing to go up for auction that night.  It was just Bill and I, the super bidder and few stragglers left in the auction house.  The briefcase was placed on the table and the bidding began with super bidder throwing out the first bid.  I waited until the last possible moment before I placed my bid.  Super bidder didn’t bat an eye as he nodded his head indicating he was in it to win it.  Well, so was I!  I bid again and waited for his nod.  I waited.  This couldn’t be happening, my mind raced, Am I actually going to win this bid!

It was as if everyone left in the auction house held a collective breath as the auctioneer counted down, “Going once, twice, all in all done…” I looked at super bidder in astonishment as I heard those glorious words…“Sold to the lady in the yellow shirt.” 

The place erupted into applause as if I had spent a fortune to win the briefcase.  In reality, I only spent $15.00.  It was, at the time, a complete mystery as to why super bidder bequeathed the briefcase to me that night.

 All I remember is his faint smile as I took possession of the case.  It was as if he was saying to me, “It was yours from the beginning.  I was just having a little fun with you.”

I was so excited!  I couldn’t believe my luck.  All the way home, I held onto the briefcase as if it contained a momentous treasure.  As soon as we came in the door, Bill and I started rifling through the briefcase like two little kids on Christmas morning.

 I noticed right away that these pictures were taken in NJ where the photographer lived as they were more personal than the others.  Some were labeled with town names that I know are in North Jersey.  As we got to the last few photographs, my heart took a little leap. 

“I remember this place, Bill” I told my husband.  “It’s the duck pond we used to visit when I was a kid.  I passed by it when I was visiting my mom’s grave.  How weird is that!”

“Wow, that’s cool.” Bill said as he moved the photograph from the briefcase to the pile on the table.

I stared into the briefcase as the next photograph was revealed.  As the photograph came into focus, my heart didn’t just take a little leap, it about bounced out of my chest.  I don’t know how long I stared at the picture staring back at me, but it took Bill’s voice to pull me out of my trance.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

I was barely aware of the tears streaming down my cheeks as I tried to answer him. 

“I…I…I…” For about five minutes, I couldn’t put a coherent sentence together.

Finally, I picked up the picture and looked at the one below it and the one below that.  I really couldn’t believe my eyes.  There in the briefcase…the very last three photographs were pictures of the three pillars at each of the entrances of my mother’s cemetery. 

Here’s the thing, I would never had known that these pictures were from her cemetery had I not recently visited her grave.

I don’t wonder any more if there is a God.  I know there is.  I know there is because only He can answer a prayer that hasn’t even been spoken yet.  Only God can show you something in such a profound way that it is fathomless…how?  How is it that I ended up with those photographs on that night in that auction house in Cape Coral, FL just a few weeks after visiting my mother’s grave in NJ?

 I’ll tell you how.  It was God’s mighty hand reminding me that He is always in charge.  He knows just what we need exactly when we need it.  I didn’t even know I needed those pictures, but I did.  I needed them to remind me that letting go of the past doesn’t mean that you don’t grieve a loss – you just look at the loss differently.  It’s kind of like a photograph forever etched in your mind’s eye, a part of your life’s tapestry.  But, the photograph becomes a reminder that the tapestry is still being woven.  It’s a reminder that there will be more photographs to fill the tapestry.  Now, every time I look at those cemetery pictures I am reminded that, had I stayed stuck in the past, I would most certainly have lost the present. 

 

Who Would Have Thunk It!

Who would have thunk it?  Worms!  I’ve always been an “out of the box” thinker, but even I was a bit taken aback by this calling.  I knew very little about worms; nor did I understand how worms would provide jobs for the least and invisible among us. Yet, the thought stuck in my brain and nagged me like a pebble in a shoe.



Six years after the thought was planted in my brain, I knew it was time to pitch the vermiculture operation (worm farm for short). So, I went to the Grace Community Center and said, “I want to run a worm farm that employs special needs adults.”  



Imagine my surprise when they responded, albeit laced with a healthy degree of skepticism, “We’ll give it a try.”



It actually makes sense to me now - almost a year after Exceptional Entrepreneurs launched.  Why shouldn’t our most precious vulnerable people in our community champion the lowly worm?  Think about it for a moment.  Without worms our world would be a dirty, unhealthy and unhappy place.  In fact, without worms the world would not be fit for habitation.  No one ever notices worms - the cleaning machines that eat our garbage and turn it into something wonderful and useful.  Worms do their job and we reap the rewards with nary a thought.  



Nary a thought is something that I wanted to change when it came to worms and employment for folks who wheel themselves in a wheelchair at work or who cannot communicate well enough to have a “real” job. Now, a year later, people are noticing this joy filled workplace where the least among us show up everyday to care for the least among us - worms.  Today,  our exceptional entrepreneurs beamed over their first paychecks.  I cried.
  


Who would have thunk it!

NoNo for Nana

Yesterday, I had the privilege of watching my sixteen-month-old granddaughter, Devyn.  We had such great fun!  The park was beautiful and there were slides of all shapes and sizes just waiting for the pitter-patter of Devyn’s feet!  The pitter-patter of Devyn’s feet was followed close behind by the clump-de-clump of Nana’s feet.  Up and down.  Up and down.  Up and down we went.  Nana kept getting stuck in the slide making Devyn laugh her head off.  By the time we got home, Devyn and I were exhausted.  Well, maybe I should rephrase that - I was exhausted and, luckily, it was Devyn’s nap time.  So, we tucked each other in and slept for four hours! 

I woke up with sore knees and an aching back. 

“My God!” I thought to myself, “I’m this out of sorts from a short trip to the park!” 

I guess it is time I accept the inevitable truth that I am no spring chicken any more.  I mean it’s really bad when you take longer naps than your granddaughter and your bedtime is earlier than hers.  There are so many things that are daily reminders of my waning youth.  Like, for instance, the other day my hairdresser trimmed my eyebrows after she plucked them!

I was looking at family pictures we took at the park and I noticed that whenever I smiled my eyes disappeared.  How sad is that!  Speaking of eyes, I was wondering why my husband was sneaking up on me and getting really close to my face when I was lying on the couch. 

“What are you doing!” I screamed in his rapidly approaching face.  (I knew he wasn’t getting romantic after all). 

“I was trying to see if you were awake.” He yelled as he jumped back from the couch and almost fell over the coffee table.  “I couldn’t tell if your eyes were open.” 

Another true sign of aging is when NoNo (the “no more hair in unwanted places” gadget for chin hair) is at the top of your Christmas list. 

Speaking of Christmas, I was whispering to Bill the other night about our thirteen-year-old’s present I ordered online when she yelled from her bedroom, “I heard that!” 

“How could she hear me?”  I whispered to Bill. 

“I heard that too, mom! You and dad are both deaf!” Came her snarky reply. 

Deaf!  What is she crazy!  I can’t help it if all she and her sisters do is mumble all the time.  Mumble this and mumble that - I went to the wrong friend’s house to pick her up the other day because she mumbled the name into the phone.  How embarrassing was that to show up at JJ’s house to pick up your daughter who was at Cricket’s house!  I mean, come on, JJ and Cricket sound almost exactly the same when you mumble the names!

I have a confession to make.  I started texting more and talking less because all my friend’s have lousy phones that make them sound like they are in tunnels or under water.  Unfortunately, I can’t read their replies because I broke my reading glasses when they fell out of my pocket while Devyn and I were stuck in the slide.

There are so many things about growing old that I could continue to mention like never sneeze or laugh after consuming even a tablespoon of liquid.  However, there is a bright side to aging...damn, I forgot what it is!

Nudge

I play scrabble on the computer, and every once in a while it will ask if I want to “nudge” someone into making a move.  I started thinking about the word “nudge” and I meandered through my fertile mind until I rested in the valley beside still waters.  There, I started thinking about how God nudges us.  More to the point, how he nudges me.  I often grow weary of listening to God or for God.  Maybe weary is not the right word to use.  I grow leery is perhaps more apropos.  What I mean by that is I don’t know if it is God directing my path or my foolish ways directing my path.  How do I know the difference between a God “nudge” and a Betty “nudge”?

I was sitting in Bible study the other day listening to a lady speak very passionately about how God is the God of miracles if you “own” His word and know His word is written for you and with you in mind and that God can do ALL things.  As I was listening to her, my knees began to ache from sitting in one position - they ache from ANYTHING.  So, I silently told God that if he was a God of miracles to heal my knees right there and then.  My knees kept right on aching.  Was it something I said?  Was it something I didn’t say?  Was it my lack of faith?  I don’t know.  All I know is that God did not perform any miracle on my knees - not then and not now.

Am I angry at God?  Sometimes.  Sometimes I ask Him why he doesn’t cure my ails so that I can do more for His kingdom.  I whine.  I cry out.  It doesn’t matter.  My knees still hurt really bad, I still can’t sleep at night, and I still have to take blood thinners to prevent another stroke.  Because of the stroke, I still don’t recognize people who should be familiar to me and find myself hiding from people I know I should know, but I don’t know.  It is exhausting being in pain all the time, and I wonder why God would want me like that.  I mean, I have so much to do for Him!

Maybe that is it.  I do have so much to do for God’s kingdom.  But, God doesn’t call the equipped does he?  He equips the called.  I have no doubt that I am called.  I got the nudge, and I know it was from God.  I know because it was right and just and required me to surrender completely and step out in faith.  Perhaps for the first time in my life, I was able to do that.  I didn’t look back.  I didn’t second-guess the call.  I didn’t say, “Wait until my health is better.”  “Wait until I have no kids at home.”  Wait until the mortgage is paid off.”  I just did it.  I just walked into my principal’s office and resigned from my job.  I walked away from a $50,000 a year paycheck with benefits to a $0 a year paycheck with no health benefits.  Why?  I did it because it was finally time for me to listen to God and, more importantly, to trust Him completely.

So, I allowed God to nudge me from a 2400 sq. ft. home into a 15’ x 32’ RV.  I allowed him to nudge me from a $50,000 a year job to a part-time volunteer position.  I went from being able to pay all my bills to scraping two pennies together hoping they’ll make more pennies (it hasn’t happened yet).  What has happened though is that I have found that all my needs and my family’s needs have still been met.  We’re not starving.  We’re not out on the street.  We have all the comforts of home - albeit on a much smaller scale.

I learned a lot from this nudge.  I learned that I am equipped as much as I need to be to do what I’ve been called to do at this moment.  I learned that I can trust God to provide my daily bread and my daily energy.  I’m learning to let Him lead me when I cannot see where the path of my life is taking me. I’m learning to listen to Him by recognizing His voice in my everyday life.

I’ve recognized God’s nudge through the smiles of my special needs students.  I know it’s Him nudging me when my 800-pound horse rests his huge head gently on my shoulder.  I know it’s God’s nudge when my granddaughter gives me Eskimo kisses.  I know it’s Him in my husband's hugs and my daughter’s dancing.  He nudges me every day to look at my life through a different prism and to be thankful because I know that He has plans to prosper me and not to harm me.  I may not have painless knees, but I have knees that allow me to do just what I need to do.  I believe that God would not want me to be healed completely because then my life would not be a testament to what people can accomplish despite their limitations.  I know that He will always deliver on His promises as long as I allow Him to nudge me from time to time.