May29

My Funerals

Posted on by
Standard

My stepdad passed away last Saturday. He’d battled congestive heart failure for a long time and it finally got the best of him. To be honest, I’m surprised he made it as long as he did. After Mama died, I thought for sure he was going to grieve himself to death or die of a broken heart. He rallied though, and made it another thirteen years. We laid him to rest today. I preached his funeral.

That surprises many people when I mention anything to do with preaching, but I do, in fact, hold an ordination as a Minister of the Gospel from the church where I grew up. My great uncle and grandfather were the main two members of my ordination council. I’ve performed nine funerals and four weddings. It’s mostly for family, but a couple of the weddings were for former students.

Today’s was the probable last funeral I’ll do, unless something unexpected comes up. Budge has told me I am absolutely not to do her funeral, but I am to sit in the front row and cry like a baby. I don’t see that being much of a problem should something happen to her. She doesn’t really want a funeral anyway. Instead, she wants a party. I’ll do my best but I can’t make any promises. I’ll probably shrivel up and die if something happens to her anyway.

Funerals are hard. Trying to give comfort to a grieving family and tie up the end of a person’s life is a weighty thing. I’ve been extremely fortunate in that eight of the nine funerals I’ve done or helped with have been for believers. Now at this point, if you aren’t a believer, first, I’m surprised you’re still reading this blog and you must have been directed here by a search engine, and two, don’t fill up my comments section with how silly it is to have faith in anything. Everyone has faith in something. Even atheists have faith that nothing exists after death, so everybody’s got some kind of faith.

Anyway, I’ve had the majority of funerals be for Christians. Most of them, really strong Christians like my great-grandmother, Big Granny, or my great-aunt Elizabeth, who were both founding members of the church where I was ordained. Preaching the funeral of an unbeliever is the hardest and saddest thing I’ve ever had to do as a Christian. It’s disingenuous to give the family false hope.

That’s where trouble lies, especially in the South. Everybody thinks he or she is a Christian and, unless specifically told otherwise, so is everyone around them. That’s just not the case. Ultimately, of course, the Final Judgement will be conducted by God the Father and Jesus Christ, so I’m not saying I KNOW this person went to Heaven and this other person went to Hell, but let’s just say someone who dies screaming in his hospital bed that “they” are coming to get him and he can see the flames, probably doesn’t have a date with the Gates of Pearl. Again, though, God is merciful so I’m not going to tell a family their loved one is definitely going to Hell either. It’s not my place.

In cases like that, it’s best just to speak to the needs of the family for closure and avoid any judgement calls. That’s what I had to do for the first funeral I ever preached. It was terrible. She was my cousin and a teenager. She lead a wild and dissolute life and died in a horrible car crash within sight of her home. I was the second preacher for that funeral and I just spoke about God’s love and grace to the undeserving and let the older, more experienced pastor handle the thorny questions.

I’ve done the funeral of my great-grandmother, like I said, and two of my great-aunts. They were easy as pie. They were all Godly women who lived a good long life, except for Aunt Betty. She died in a car crash, but she was still older. I just turned to Proverbs 31 and read about the virtues of a Godly woman. It was the easiest thing ever. Mama always said the best funerals are preached while we live, then all that’s left for the preacher to do is tie everything up in a nice bow, say a prayer, and shake hands with the family.

My Papa John was a hard funeral for me. He was a strong believer. In fact, he’d been my pastor growing up. His death started the introspection into my faith, deciding just what I did and did not believe. His death wasn’t unexpected, but it came suddenly when it came. Watching Mama on the front row of chairs while an October rain beat down on the funeral home tent made it hard to concentrate on what I was saying. She was so bereft and forlorn. She never really was the same after that day.

Now HER funeral was THE hardest one I ever did. Losing Mama rocked me to my very core. I honestly didn’t know what I believed in any more and yet I had to stand in front of her casket and tell soothing stories about her life and how great she was, which wasn’t hard because she was great, but at the same time I was wrestling with doubts and wonderings of my own that would really affect me for over two years after she died. It was a beautiful day for her funeral though. Ten o’clock on a crisp, bright March morning just like she wanted. No visitation. No one looking at her when they didn’t have the common decency to come see her when she was sick.

Today’s funeral for Rob wasn’t awful. Rob was a believer, if a little rough around the edges. His only goal for the last thirteen years had been to die and go be with Mama. I might have mentioned that a time or two during my remarks. It was a motley crew of us at the graveside. Suits and ties mingled with ripped jeans and band t-shirts. I wore Crocs because that’s how Rob knew me. He would have been confused if I’d been standing up there in a black suit and tie.

I read a lot of Bible at his funeral. I went Old and New Testament, picking out some of my favorite verses along the way. I was terrified of screwing something up since today’s funeral was the last of my responsibility to Rob. The last thing Mama said to me before she lost consciousness was please watch after Rob. I’ve spent the last thirteen years making sure he had a roof over his head and car insurance so he could drive. I helped with bills. I loved Rob anyway because he was so good to Mama. The family was completely satisfied with how I conducted the service. My step-aunts’ pastor was at the graveside and he was very complementary of what all I said, so in all it was a success.

So that’s the story of my funeral ministry. I’ll always be available for family or anyone who needs me to preach their funeral, but it never gets “easy.” It’s always a big responsibility. Now y’all know that I love you, and make sure to keep your feet clean.

Apr25

Thoughts on Peewee Baseball

Posted on by
Standard

Budge and I recently had the pleasure to go watch one of our friend’s son play his opening day baseball game. It was a perfect day for baseball — sunny with a nice breeze blowing — and we set our folding chairs up right behind home plate.

Now the last two years, Hayes has been playing t-ball. T-ball, as the name implies, has the youngsters hitting the baseball off a tee. The ball is stationary and the tee is adjusted to whatever height the player needs, since lots of these little ones are not much bigger than the tee at the best of times. Even though the ball doesn’t move, it’s still quite possible to strike out in t-ball. Each player gets the customary three swings at the ball, and many of them miss the tee, the ball, and all three times and so have to have a seat.

This year, however, Hayes has moved up to coaches’ pitch, the next level in the baseball journey. At this stage, the player’s coach half pitches, half tosses the ball to the batters of his team. It’s interesting to see how different coaches pitch to their players. Some, like Hayes’ coach, put a little arc on the ball and it doesn’t have much on it. On the other side of the diamond, the opposing coach fairly hummed the ball in to the catcher.

This is important in the game because the harder the ball comes in, the harder it will fly off the bat if the batter manages to hit it. It’s after the ball is hit and put into play that the real fun of the game starts. In the game we watched, both teams obviously had drilled into their heads to throw the ball to first base to hopefully get the batter out. Now there’s nothing wrong with that approach except when there is a runner on third and the ball is hit to the third baseman. Rather than try to tag said runner out, or throw the ball to home for a play, the third baseman launches the ball all the way across the field toward first while the runner on third runs home.

It’s easy to get frustrated watching the game as the youngsters play, but it is of paramount importance to remember these are, in fact, youngsters. Hayes and his teammates were in the 8U division so all of them were second graders. The game has to be simplified for them or there’s no telling what might happen. The coach already has to deal with keeping the right fielder from chasing butterflies and the second baseman from playing in the dirt. It’s an improvement over t-ball, though. In t-ball, often as much as half the team doesn’t really want to be there and the scene is much akin to a cat rodeo.

Now Hayes has this year and next year in coaches’ pitch. Then, in the 10U division, the players start pitching themselves. That’s a lot of fun to watch! No one on the field or in the stands knows where that baseball is going when it leaves the pitcher’s hand and that includes the pitcher. It takes a brave kid to stand and be pitched to by one of his peers. The ball might go across the plate, but it might just as easily plunk the batter in the ribs or go over their heads to the backstop. No one really knows, and that’s part of the fun of it. They’ll get better and by the 12U division, it becomes obvious who is going to be a pitcher in the future.

On this day, Hayes and his team came up a little short. I don’t think it had anything to do with coaching since both coaches seemed competent. The players are distributed more or less at random and the other team ended up with a few more ball players than Hayes’ team did.

It was fun to watch though and took me back in time to when I tried to play baseball, but that’s for another time. Until then, love y’all and keep your feet clean!

Mar25

12 Years

Posted on by
Standard

Today is the twelfth anniversary of my mother’s passing. I would have thought back before all this that I would be able to put it behind me, but I think I was kidding myself. Everyone grieves differently and at different stages and levels over time. For me, Mama’s absence is still a hole that aches in a mostly dull, but sometimes razor sharp way. I don’t devolve into uncontrollable sobs like I once did. Tears still come, but they are the kind that slide down my cheek. Sometimes, the sobs are there, but they are not as prevalent as they used to be.

Growing up with Mama, we were extremely loving towards one another. We rarely had any cross words with each other. We always told each other we loved one another anytime one of us was going to leave, “Just in case.” That remains a source of happy memories for me. Now though, I dream about Mama. I’m sure most would think that was wonderful, and so would I except for one problem: Mama is always angry with me or scared of me in my dreams.

Without fail, she is either disappointed at something I’ve done, or sometimes, she is just downright angry at me for something. Unfortunately, as is the case sometimes with dreams, I don’t know what I’ve done to upset her so. Other times, she cowers from my presence as if I were going to hurt her. I never once in the years we were together, ever raised a hand or even my voice at my mother. Sure, we had spats, especially when I was a teenager and right after college, but I always definitely knew what the source was. In my dreams, I never do. It’s something that haunts me when I wake from one of those dreams. Most of the time, I can’t remember the dream, but I just remember Mama being mad at me.

I do have some dreams about Mama when she isn’t angry with me or something else, but those are very few and far between. The factor that binds all those dreams is that, for a moment, I forget Mama has died. I’ll go through the dream and suddenly, I’ll realize Mama isn’t going to be there when I wake up. That knowledge usually causes me to wake up. I’m always sad then.

I know I write a lot about Mama and I would imagine sometimes the people who read my blog are tired of the constant talk, but I miss her terribly. For the first twenty-five years of my life, she was the most important person in it, then Budge came along, and they became like the Trinity at the top of my life, two people sharing the same space. When I lost my job as a librarian, it wasn’t quite so bad because I had Mama to look after. I went down to her house several times a week. We went to Chick-Fil-A on Fridays for chicken minis before I took her to the grocery store. She loved the grocery store, any store really, and it was a sad day when she couldn’t go anymore.

With Mama gone and Ima gone as well, it feels like my purpose is gone. My job wasn’t gone, it had just morphed into taking care of Mama. When she died, a lot of my purpose for being died with her. I’ve had a devil of a time trying to find one since then. I did have a renewed sense of purpose for the time Dad was in the veteran’s home with dementia. Going to see him twice a week gave me something important to do and someone to take care of. Sadly, Dad is gone now, too.

I keep on going though. It’s honestly not as hard as it was like ten years ago because it’s not as raw and stomach churning. I reached the stage of acceptance in my grief cycle, but it doesn’t mean I miss her any less, nor does it mean the ache goes away.

Think about me today if you have the time and remember, I love y’all, and keep your feet clean.

Feb24

Playtime Concussion

Posted on by
Standard

This month I want to tell you a story from my college days that I’ve always thought was funny. I hope you think so too. It all started on a sunny day in late winter at Clemson, as so many stories I love to remember do. Some of the guys had been to a laser tag arena up in the mountains and had come home with stories of fun and excitement. Laser tag was pretty new in the early ’90s. Paintball was preferred, but paintball was expensive and our rooms were miraculously short on money. So we wanted to do more laser tag.

Come to find out, Toys ‘R Us had laser tag equipment, so there was nothing to do but head to Anderson Boulevard and pay the giraffe a visit. I remember the ride because Cook had his ’67 GTO at school. He didn’t bring it all the time, mainly because people are assholes and some of them can’t stand seeing someone driving a nice classic car without wanting to do something like put a knife through the convertible top or break a mirror off just because they can’t have one. Most of the time, the Goat lived at home in Laurens and Cook drove a much more fuel efficient Pontiac Phoenix.

Today though, we were in the GTO. Six of us were rolling towards Anderson with the top down and the glorious winter Sun shining on our faces. Of course it was a little chilly, it was still winter after all, but why have a classic convertible if you aren’t going to put the top down? So, we endured a little cold and enjoyed the ride with the wind in our hair.

We got to the giraffe’s lair and spread out looking for laser tag stuff. Hoppe found it first and we congregated around picking out what we would need. I have to point out here that I did not purchase a laser tag kit because I had a strict “spend money on liquid stuff” policy that the guys respected and enjoyed since I was a generous host. The other five got theirs though and we headed back towards Clemson after a side quest at Hooter’s for lunch. For those of you who do not know, the founders of Hooter’s were Clemson graduates. That’s why so much of their decor is bright orange.

We got home and played video games for the rest of the day, because laser tag is a night time activity. We had supper and it got dark so everybody went up to the field above Lightsey Bridge Apartments to try out their new gear. I tagged along to see what the fuss was about and maybe borrow a kit for a turn. The guys chose sides and started running around stalking each other for the best angle to score a laser hit.

That’s where things got dicey. Obviously, running around on the field presented too many clear opportunities for scores. However, a stand of mature oak trees bordered the field and the guys soon took their adventure into the cover of the trees. Most of them realized the full tilt running around that had ruled on the open pasture wasn’t going to work under the trees. Everybody except Brent. Wingnut decided to keep his speed up and dash from cover to cover and that’s when things went slightly crooked.

Wingnut was running flat out from one tree to the next. Unfortunately, he did not account for the low hanging limbs — limbs that were all but invisible in the dark — of the tree in between. Just like Absalom on his mule fleeing the armies of King David, Brent ran full bore under those limbs. Now those of you who are younger reading this might not have had the joy that was watching Looney Tunes cartoons on Saturday morning, but one common trope was for a character to run full speed into a limb hanging about forehead level and their feet would keep running until they were stretched straight out at which point gravity took over landing them flat on their back.

Well, Wingnut would have done Wile E. Coyote proud the way he took that limb right between the eyes. I thought the laws of physics would prohibit the actually running into midair horizontal, but Brent proved otherwise. His feet just kept on churning and he stretched out like a gun barrel then plopped to the ground — completely dazed. How it didn’t knock him out I have no idea, but he lay there for a good while trying to unscramble his brains.

We helped him down the hill to the apartment and the first thing we saw when we got into the light of the room was the black and blue stripe right across Brent’s forehead. It was a thousand wonders he didn’t knock himself out and as it was I think he probably had at least a mild concussion. He refused a ride to the ER to get checked out just in case and we, in true male fashion, spent the rest of the night making jokes at his wounded offence.

Sorry it’s so short this month. I’ll try to do better next time! Love y’all and keep your feet clean!

Jan7

Once, There Was A Hummer

Posted on by
Standard

Today is a banner day in my life. It’s a day of great importance that won’t be equaled anytime soon. Thirty years ago today — January 7, 1995 — Budge and I became a couple. It isn’t our thirtieth marriage anniversary yet. That will be next August, but it is the three decade mark of us being together. If you haven’t been keeping up, that’s a long time. It’s more than half my life and almost three quarters of Budge’s.

It all started when I was a first year teacher at Woodmont High School. I found out I was chosen to be a Natural Helper. At the time, I had no idea what that was, but it turns out it’s a nationwide organization dedicated to making sure youth in crisis have someone to turn to. We were chosen by students who felt they could trust us to have a place to talk safely. I was picked as one and therefore got to go on a retreat the first weekend back from Christmas Break.

Budge came up to me at school all bouncy and happy and announced quite proudly she would be allowed to call me by my first name for the following weekend! That was fine with me, but I was a little overwhelmed by her vehemence. That Thursday we left for the retreat site, one Awanita Valley Retreat Center, amid a downpour of snow and freezing rain. There was even some talk of cancelling, but our bus driver assured us he could get us there safely. So, we went. It was my birthday.

When we got to Awanita, we started unloading the bus. I walked into the lodge with a bag in each hand when Budge ran up to me, engulfed me in a hug, and told me Happy Birthday! Now my birthday has always been a big deal to me. I don’t know why, but I’ve always seen it as my one day out of the year when it’s okay to be happy to be myself. It was sweet that Budge remembered it was my birthday because I had only mentioned it to her in passing in a conversation.

All that evening, I couldn’t shake Budge. She was right by my side. Now don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t trying hard. She was funny and good company. We sat next to each other at supper and later on we did a blindfolded trust walk where I got blindfolded and she walked me around this totally unfamiliar ground and managed to keep me upright and avoided breaking my neck. We had a few more activities, and we went to be.

The next day, January 7, was the day things changed. Budge and I both signed up for a Hummer ride up the side of the mountain. The retreat had a surplus Hum-Vee with the canvas top removed so we were all out in the elements. It was a freezing morning, and the “trail” we were going up was two ill-defined ruts in the ground up the side a a much steeper than I thought at first mountain. As always, Budge was strapped in beside me in the middle seat.

Up the mountain we went at a pretty rapid rate of speed bouncing all over the place. Budge was pressed right up against me, practically in my lap on the rough ride. It was fun in a terrifying way. I was sure once or twice we were going off the side of the mountain. We got to the top, stopped long enough to turn around, and started back down faster than we’d come up. By the time we got to the bottom again, something was different between me and Budge.

We left the Hummer and went over to the lakeside and sat down next to each other on a log bench in the sunshine. We had a serious conversation that afternoon. We both agreed we liked each other, and we also agreed it was silly and reckless for a teacher and a student to have a romantic relationship, but then we also agreed we didn’t really care and decided we were a couple. Consequences be damned.

Now our closeness had not gone unnoticed by others. That evening, Budge was cornered by some of the older women teachers and wives and warned all about the age difference between us and how serious it would be for my job. The whole spiel. Meanwhile, out beside the evening campfire, I was getting the same treatment from a group of the older men. The were warning me about leading on such a young girl and how it could cost me my job. Again, all sound advice and in a sane world, they were exactly right.

We paid it no attention whatsoever. Our minds were made up. Now I’ll be honest, I thought the whole thing might just be chalked up to the atmosphere of the retreat and of course, Budge getting to call me by my first name. Turns out, I was dead wrong. It took about a week and a half of fits and starts once we got back to school, but soon, she was calling me often and I was looking forward to the calls. Later on in January, we went on our first date which is another story for another time.

So there it is. Thirty years we’ve been a couple, and it all started on the Hummer ride as far as we have always been concerned. Like I said earlier, thirty years is a long time. If we’d had children when we first got married, we might very well be getting ready to be grandparents by now. I hope it doesn’t sound silly, but I don’t really care if it does, but I consider my relationship with Budge to be my greatest accomplishment. Out of everything I’ve ever done, being with her together and loving each other for three decades is the most important thing I’ve ever done.

So, that’s our origin story. Thirty years today. We’ll go eat a good supper tonight and celebrate. I’m trying to figure out what to do next year for our thirtieth wedding anniversary, and I hope I can come up with something good. But until then, love y’all and keep your feet clean!

Dec26

Holiday Summary 2024

Posted on by
Standard

Christmas has come and gone for the year and except for New Year’s, the holidays are past. To be honest, Budge and I don’t really consider New Year’s a holiday much anymore since it takes all our energy to stay up and watch the ball drop. It was an eventful holiday season this year; much more than I would have liked it to be.

Budge got out of school the Friday before Thanksgiving for a dentist appointment. She knew she was about to be out six weeks, so what’s one more day? We went to the dentist; it was fine except Budge has to get a crown in January, but other than that, no big deal.

Tuesday before Thanksgiving though, the real adventure started. We had to be at the hospital at 5:30 AM for Budge to have her hysterectomy. She’s been angling for a hysterectomy for a couple of years now for various reasons I won’t go into here, but finally her doctor and our insurance got on the same page and approved the surgery. She went back about 7:30 AM for the procedure to begin. I went to the Chik-Fil-A there at the hospital and got some breakfast.

I got back to the waiting room, and waited. Budge’s doctor came out about 9:45 AM and told me the operation was successful and everything was fine and I should see Budge in about thirty minutes. Well, those thirty minutes turned into nearly three hours with no word from anyone about anything. I finally got called back to see her and got an explanation for what went wrong. Her pain was out of control, so they gave her a variety of pain killers at once. That made her blood pressure tank. I mean, really low. Scary low. They pumped her full of fluids to get her blood pressure back up, but the couldn’t give her anything else for pain except Tylenol.

After much weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth, they got her in a room and I went to see her settle in. Looked like everything was going fine. She was supposed to stay one night and come home the next day. That was before Missy appeared on the scene. Missy was Budge’s CNA. She was helping Budge into bed when she let go and Budge fell onto the bed on her left side. She said then that it felt like she’d broken a rib, but thankfully she hadn’t.

What HAD happened was one of the paths the surgeon used to do the hysterectomy lapriscopically had burst. When Budge got up a few minutes later to go to the bathroom, she was bleeding like no tomorrow. She naturally thought it was from where her uterus had been, but they soon figured out it was from the surgery channel. I could go into a lot of detail about what all this incurred, but to hit the high points, Budge developed a huge hematoma in her left abdomen that was bleeding. It took two days to get the hematoma partially drained and the bleeding to stop. Instead of one night, she stayed three nights, including Thanksgiving in the hospital.

We got her home and I played nurse to her. At first, I had to help her up and down out of her chair. That lasted about a week. Then she was able to get about, but I usually still helped her, and sometimes still do, because her belly is sore. It still looks like she was in a car wreck with all the bruising, and it’s still bleeding just a tiny bit so she has to wear a surgical dressing on that side.

So, I tended her for the last month as best as I could. For two weeks we got meals from different friends and families and we are extremely thankful for that because early on she did not feel like getting out anywhere. Now though, she is getting around on her own for the most part, even though I still help her some. She’s supposed to go back to school when classes start up on January 6, but we’ll see.

Well, that’s the scary part of the holidays. Compared to that, everything else has been fine. We didn’t get out to Christmas shop, because why would you when you have the power of the Internet to do it for you? Except for a few close friends we exchange small gifts with, Budge and I only buy for each other anymore. It makes me sad, but the majority of people we used to get gifts for are no longer with us.

Used to, we’d have a big gathering of friends and family at Mama’s house on Christmas Eve. Budge would help her get the food ready and I would run to the store when needed. Christmas Day when Granny Wham was still alive, we would go to Daddy’s for his side of the family to have a dinner or a supper, depending on who could come when. Papa Wham died the year before Budge and I married, so she never got to spend Christmas with him. When I was little, Granny Wham fixed all the food and everyone came to her house on Christmas Day, but Lord, that’s been nearly forty years ago since we were able to do that.

We had a quiet Christmas at home yesterday. We usually go to some friend’s house to see what their six kids got for Christmas, but Budge didn’t feel like it this year and I wasn’t too excited about it myself with all that has happened so we stayed home and opened gifts. We both got things we wanted and expected along with things we didn’t expect. Neither one of us is easy to buy for. Then we put a pot of chili on to cook for the day and we just dozed for a while then went out to get some snacks for lunch. We ate our chili and that was Christmas.

So, that’s our Christmas season. I hope all of you had a Merry Christmas and I hope the new year makes all your dreams come true, but to tell the truth, I wouldn’t count on it considering the state of the world. But in the mean time, know I love y’all and keep your feet clean.

Nov28

#TBT: Giving Thanks This Year

Posted on by
Standard

I’ve been trying to do new material all this year, but I’m in danger of missing November’s post if I don’t get writing, and due to circumstances beyond my control, I’m not going to have any more time than I’ve had the last week to get a post done, so I’m rerunning one of my Thanksgiving posts about giving thanks. Long story short, Budge is in the hospital. She’s going to be fine, but it’s made things hectic around here so I haven’t had time to write anything. I’ll try to do better next month.

I haven’t written much new material in a long while. It’s not that I don’t have any ideas, but rather my computer has gone on the blink and replacing it is beyond my means at this season of life. Putting out a post on my phone as I’m doing now is quite tedious since I think faster than I can type, but this holiday begs for a new post so I’ve set myself a goal of giving thanks. Specifically I’m going to list ten things I’m most thankful for at this time. So without further ado, my list.

1. I’m thankful for Budge. We’ve been married 26 years and she’s stood by me through all the tough times. She’s my rock.

2. I’m thankful I had 42 years with Mama. Sometimes it hits me that it wasn’t enough time, but some people don’t get that much with their mothers.

3. In the same vein, I’m thankful I had all my grandparents until I was 24 and Papa Wham died. It makes me sad that so many people never get to know their grands and I’m so glad I had mine for so long.

4. I’m thankful for my home. It may not seem like much to folks, but it’s ours. The roof doesn’t leak. It’s cool in summer and warm in winter. Some people look down on living in a trailer, but I don’t really know any different so it makes me happy.

5. I’m thankful for my friends. I’m not going to start naming them for fear of leaving someone out, but I’ve got some really loyal friends. I’ve been blessed all my life with friends I could count on and though some have drifted away, they still hold a special place in my memories.

6. I’m thankful for my furry babies. Budge and I never had children and I know it’s not the same but we love them as if they were our children. I spend many hours alone and I also fall into some pretty dark moods and having them blunts the loneliness. They don’t talk back in our language but they have a way of letting me know they care.

7. I’m thankful for my beloved therapist and my equally beloved psychiatrist. That may seem odd to some to care that much about two men who came into my life over ten years ago, but they keep me going. Next to Budge, they are the biggest members of my mental support system.

8. I’m thankful for my health. Oh, I have some medical issues but thanks to a good doctor, they are all well controlled. I can still get around on my own and I’m not in constant pain; except for the odd aches that started popping up around 45. I see people who can’t go and do and it reminds me how much good health really means.

9. I’m thankful for my church. The people I see most Sundays, the ones I serve in the nursery with, the pastors who check on me, they all make me feel seen and cared about and that means a lot when you think dark thoughts like I do sometimes.

10. I’m thankful for Jesus. I realize faith in Jesus might not be as fashionable as it once was, but I’ve never been the fashionable type. I’m glad He came and died on a cross for me to have new life. Sometimes I wish I could move on into that new life, but I’m thankful that as long as I have Jesus, I may get lonely, but I’m never really alone.

So, there’s my list. It may seem sappy to some of you, but it’s all true. Those are the things, not all of course, that I care about. Maybe next year I can add some more if I’m not typing on a phone! Until then love y’all, happy Thanksgiving, and keep your feet clean!

Oct25

October Thoughts

Posted on by
Standard

Hard as it is to believe, October is almost gone. Halloween is in a week and spooky season is done for another year. Now, it may come as a surprise, but I don’t really like October much. The tenth month has historically been hard on me for various reasons.

First, when I was eight years old, I got a promise in October that was supposed to be life changing. I waited for forty years, but the promise never came. I still think about it every now and then, but I’ve long since resigned myself to it having just been a pipe dream. I would have been nice though. I’ve lost several people in October, too. Papa John died in October. I’ve had some former students pass in October. It’s been just enough bad stuff for the month to put a sour taste in my mouth.

It’s a shame really, because it’s a beautiful time of years. The temps start dropping, the leaves start changing, and the sky takes on that hue that reminds everyone everywhere that God is a University of North Carolina fan. Granny Wham loved October. When I was little, we used to go to the mountains in October and see the leaves changing. We’d pack a lunch and stop beside the road to eat fried chicken.

This October, though, hasn’t done anything to move up in my esteem. It all started with my first hurricane experience. Hurricane Helene hit Greenville right square in the mouth. Back in 1989, we thought Hugo was going to hit either Greenville or Charlotte. It looked like Greenville, but, as the unpredictable storms will often do, it turned at the last minute and devastated downtown Charlotte. Not this year though. We took wind and rain right on the chin. All around us, people had monster trees down in their yards. Roads were impassable for days until trees cleared out, and power was a thing of the past.

Bad as we got it here, however, it was nothing compared to the devastation western North Carolina and middle Tennessee took. They were hit with landslides and flooding. Several small towns are just gone — wiped off the map by raging floodwaters and mudslides down the mountains. Parts of the city of Asheville just washed away. Major highways aren’t there anymore, having washed down the side of the mountain. Life is pretty much back to normal for us down here, except for some cleanup, but up there, places still don’t have power or water.

We were blessed and cursed in the storm. The actual storm caused extremely small amounts of damage to our home. We had a yard full of sticks and leaves, but none of our trees came down even as homes all around us lost trees enormous in size, some of which still haven’t been cleaned up because of the backlog of work tree companies have as well as the prohibitive cost of cleaning up a huge tree.

We also had some bad stuff happen to us though. The second night, we were without power and it was stuffy in the house so we raised the porch window all the way up to let maximum air flow in. Bob, our biggest, if youngest, cat took the opportunity to blow through the screen and run out into the night. That was bad enough, but he did come back a few hours later and hop back in the window and announce he wanted breakfast. Unfortunately, for reasons only she knows, our timid little girl Mavis followed him out the window. She was the last of our brood we would have figured to do such a thing, but she did, and she has not shown a hair since that night. She has a full set of claws and teeth and is an excellent hunter based on how well she stalks and catches mice in the house, but she only has one eye. We are slowly loosing hope that she’ll come back and it’s especially hard not knowing what’s happened to her, but we do have friends who encourage us that cats are funny and she may still turn up. We can only hope.

Just about the time we got power back from the storm, I started to feel a tingling sensation in the heel of my left hand. A bump rose up and I thought it was just a pimple, so I took a razor knife to it. It didn’t disappear, however, and was joined by several more lesions that looked more than anything like chicken pox. They also burned and ached like fire. I went to the urgent care center and got the bad news — shingles. I’ve dreaded shingles ever since I turned fifty because I knew I was a prime candidate for them, having had a massive case of chicken pox in first grade.

By the end of the week, I had lesions on both sides of my hand, up my fingers, and in the spots between my fingers. It looked pretty gnarly and the pain and ache went all the way up my left arm. The urgent care doctor gave me Valtrex anti-herpes drugs since shingles and herpes are in the same viral family, but she didn’t give me anything for pain, since, God forbid someone actually need pain meds. Oh no! It’ll always lead to opioid addiction. I had some oxycodone from a back strain and Budge had some from her facial pain back in March so I limped along on those. I’m pretty much back to normal now, but my left index finger is still as numb as novocained teeth. The lesions are drying up and disappearing. I have to wait 90 days to get the vaccine, but guaranteed, I will. I wouldn’t wish these things on my worst enemy.

That’s my thoughts on October, but before I go, I’d like to talk to y’all briefly about the blog. I know I don’t put out the amount of content I once did. It’s hard for me to come up with ideas I think y’all want to read about. I don’t get many comments — maybe one every six months. So I’ve started to wonder if maybe 12 or so years is long enough and maybe it’s time to shut ‘er down. What do you, my readers, think? Is there a reason to keep writing? Is there something you’d like me to visit or even revisit? I’d love to know.

So until next time, love y’all and keep your feet clean.

Sep25

Why I Hate One Certain Bon Jovi Song

Posted on by
Standard

I like music. Actually, I like music a ton. I’m not picky about genres although I don’t care for death metal as I’ve gotten older. My ears can’t take the screaming. One artist I always liked more or less is Jon Bon Jovi. I bought his Slippery When Wet album after listening to it in my cousin Todd’s car on the way to school my freshman year. I enjoyed that album. As a matter of fact, one song in particular became my favorite song for a time — “You Give Love A Bad Name.” Because of certain events when I was a junior in high school, however, it went from being one of my favorites to a song that to this day I refuse to listen to on the radio. Budge knows to turn the station as soon as it comes on. I will not listen to that song and I’ve never told Budge why. Here’s why.

I had a friend in high school. Let’s call her J. J was from another feeder school than I was so we didn’t meet until freshman year. Because we were both honors students, we had many classes together and we got pretty tight over the years. I flirted with her shamelessly mostly because she was never a serious consideration. As Clint Eastwood once said, “A man’s got to know his limitations.” She always laughingly turned me down and I would sing or hum a few bars of “You Give Love A Bad Name” to her. She would respond with mock outrage every time I did and we’d have a good laugh.

The laughter stopped when we were juniors. As will often happen, J met a boy late in our sophomore year. The two could not have been a worse match if they had been members of the Jets and the Sharks. They were from totally different backgrounds and sadly, but honestly, on two totally different life trajectories. J was smitten with the bad boy. We’ll call this bad boy D. J’s mother and stepdad LOATHED D with a burning passion and forbade her to see him, much less go on dates.

Love finds a way though. In this particular case, I was more than once part of that way. See, J’s parents believed a version of me that most parents of my friends and acquaintances held to all through my junior high and high school years . . . a least until I became a senior, but that’s another story for another day. J could go anywhere with me no questions asked, so sometimes, I would take J to see D. I still sang “You Give Love A Bad Name” to her on the way there and on the way back and elicit a knowing smile from her. I knew this was going to all end in tears, star-crossed lovers and all that. Maybe I would have done differently if I’d known just how bad it was going to end. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t have.

This rocked on for a little over six months. Don’t hold me to the exact dates and times. The years have taken some of the details, but enough remains. J started wearing baggy clothes to school the winter of our junior year. I didn’t think anything of it for two reasons, she could make a flour sack look like a prom dress and I was and still am completely oblivious to so much that happens right in front of my face. Budge shakes her head at me sometimes.

Anyway, I went over to see her once during Christmas break and we talked about nothing. She asked me to take her to see D. We snowballed the parents with some story and I took her to him. They grabbed each other and started crying. I had no idea what was going on so I just eased out of the room and waited in the car. She came back and was wiping her face to get the tears off. I took her home and didn’t think another thing of it. I have to be honest, I was going through my own dark valley, the first of many, during this time. So I wasn’t as observant as I might have been, and also oblivious.

J didn’t come back from Christmas break. She didn’t come back the entire month of January. I missed my friend but I figured she had her reasons. She did. Dear Lord Above, she did. When she came back finally, she was different. She wore normal clothes again, and her face was different. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t kid around with me like she used to. She wasn’t the same ever again until we graduated high school.

Now all y’all have probably gotten this all figured out by now. It took a mutual female friend sitting me down and explaining things to me. J’s parents found out she was pregnant, but it was already into the second trimester. J did everything she could to hide her baby, but it didn’t work in the end. I can’t imagine the pressure they put on her to have an abortion for her to actually go through it. She couldn’t get it done in South Carolina though so her mother took her to Georgia for the procedure. It took her a while to get over so she was out of school that month.

D was devastated and he partially blamed me. I don’t know why since I didn’t do anything other than what I was asked and i always supported them, but sometimes people need a scapegoat so that’s what I was. They never saw each other again to my knowledge, but I’m not certain about that.

All I do know is J was never the same. Her laugh that used to be so melodious sounded forced. She had a darkness about her that nothing I did could pierce. We graduated. She went off to school, got married, and had two or three kids so at least her uterus wasn’t damaged. She got a divorce. I don’t know why, but she married again, a guy from high school. They didn’t last long until she cheated on him. Now they are divorced. That’s all I know; Facebook stalking will only get you so far. From what I see, she seems happy, but who knows what thoughts come in the deep hours of the night. I know I don’t.

So, that’s why I hate “You Give Love A Bad Name.”

Love y’all, and keep your feet clean.

Aug30

My Operation

Posted on by
Standard

Well, I told y’all last month about the debacle of discovering I had a malignant melanoma on my right shoulder. This past Tuesday, I had it taken off. It has proved to be an interesting experience, if I do say so.

I haven’t been worried about the surgery ever since we spoke to the doctor and he assured us there was nothing to worry about. Still, I couldn’t help but get a little nervous as the time drew near. I’m generally averse to pain in all its many forms and I wasn’t sure how much pain was going to be involved in getting this cancer off my shoulder. I also am not crazy about being put to sleep.

Until Tuesday, I’d only been put under twice. Once for my wisdom teeth back in high school, and once a few years ago when I had my carpal tunnel disorder fixed. I woke up during the wisdom teeth surgery for a bit. It was just long enough for the nurse to twist the knob a little, and I was right back out. For the hand surgery, I was so nervous the nurse went and got Budge to calm me down so I’d quit shaking long enough to get an IV started in my foot. Yeah, it had to be in my foot because they were working on both arms. I was barely out during that procedure. I felt some discomfort I thought I wouldn’t feel, and I remember a good bit of the surgery. So in all, getting put under is not a favorite thing of mine.

I got up Tuesday and got a shower with antibacterial soap, per the instructions I’d gotten on the phone. Actually, Budge had gotten the instructions because I didn’t recognize the number calling so I didn’t answer. I was glad of one thing. We didn’t have to be at the hospital until 9:30 AM, which is a lot better than the butt crack of dawn we’ve usually had to get there whenever Budge has had her surgeries. We got checked in at the business department and they walked us back towards the surgical waiting cubicles where I’d get prepped.

At that point, the took Budge away. That set off alarm bells because I don’t like being separated from her in strange places and I didn’t know why they were taking her away. I’d always gotten to wait with her whenever she had surgery. She told be later she was concerned about it too. Turns out it wasn’t much of a big deal. I just went and got changed into the hottest plastic Tyvek gown I’ve ever been in in my life. Then they started an iv in my arm and the parade started.

I call it a parade because it’s a procession of associate medical folks who have something to do with my surgery. I talked to the doctor in charge of knocking me out. (No I can’t spell it. Leave me alone.) Then the surgical resident and a medical student came by to let me know they’d be assisting the doctor. Then a couple more people with various titles showed up and finally, the nurse brought Budge back in to wait with me.

It was a wait, too. We sat there two hours waiting to go to the operating room. Come to find out, this is common when Dr. Trocha has surgical days because he has one patient after the other stacked up ready to go. He’ll go in and remove the lesion in one patient, his resident will close the incision, and he’ll already be gone to the next one. He had eight the day I was there. Anyway, we spent two hours listening to the Yacht Rock channel on the hospital tv system. Thankfully, we both like ’70’s easy listening music or it could have been tedious.

They finally came and got me and wheeled me back to the OR. All I remember after that point was the room was freezing. I barely had time to register that fact before the nurse pushed something in my IV and the next thing I knew, I was waking up looking at Budge and a nurse in recovery.

So far, the recovery hasn’t been so bad. I bled a good bit the first couple of days so Budge kept extra gauze taped to me so I only ruined two shirts. They put this tape on my shoulder over the incision, and I don’t know what it’s made of, but it puts duct tape to shame. It is STUCK! I’m supposed to leave it on until I see the doctor in two weeks, so it must be some durable stuff. I can get it wet, but I’m not supposed to turn it to the shower head directly.

The gash is a lot bigger than I thought it would be. The spot was just a centimeter or so square but he cut out a seven inch trench in my shoulder! I guess he wanted to be thorough. Mission accomplished. So I still can’t lay on that shoulder, which is a bummer for me because that’s my preferred shoulder. I also have to be careful pushing or pulling too much so I don’t pop a stitch, although I don’t see how that’s possible through that space age polymer tape they have on me. The worst part is it itches like crazy. Of course I can’t scratch it, so I pat it to try to get it to stop. It works about half the time.

But that’s it. That’s my surgery in a nutshell. I now have to put that I’ve had cancer on any medical history I fill out, and I have to go to the dermatologist every three months for a couple of years, but other than that, I don’t have anything to worry about! So, remember I love y’all and keep those feet clean!