This One's For My Girl

It's difficult to watch a loved one deal with health issues.  But my mom is taking everything in stride.  Her doctor advised her to take two more chemotherapy treatments.  Chemotherapy is no walk in the park.  First of all before you begin the treatments a port gets inserted in your chest.  A port is a thin, soft, plastic tube that allows healthcare professionals to draw blood and deliver chemotherapy drugs into your vein without having to insert an IV needle each time. 

I was with her when she received her first dosage. The entire time she was there I sat thinking, here is a woman who eats healthy, she power walks and she's never been sick an entire day in her life. What's wrong with this picture? We sat and pondered it out and came to the conclusion that it had to have been the hormone pills she took over the years.  Suffice it to say she immediately stopped.  She suffers from side effects like terrible hot flashes but according to her, "she'll be damned" before she takes another pill.

I love her so much and this set back in her health is only a setup for a major comeback.  I always tell her that she is a testimony.  It is a proven fact that with faith and the proper diet you can overcome any health obstacle.  Later in the month, our church and members of the community are giving her "flowers," we are celebrating her life with music and awesome words of encouragement.  I do believe that we should give people their flowers so they can actually see how beautiful and how sweet they are to us.

So this one's for my girl, the rose in my life, the true north on the compass of my soul, the hand I fan with, my solid rock.

Is It Ever Too Late to Help Someone

My family and I took a ride to Creole Country this past weekend to spend some time with my mother-in-law.  She just celebrated a milestone of a birthday on June 18.  The weekend spent at her house was trying my patience at best.  Please don't get me wrong, I love my mother-in-law, she's a sweet person and I'd like to think at times that she's in her right mind.  I mean she raised my husband to be a spiritual, hardworking, honest and very caring man.  But there were times I just shook my head and said nobody can be this ignorant.  I'm sorry if that's a harsh word to use, but it is the truth.  She talks about things without having done the research and will argue you down if you try to correct her.  Having a conversation with her is like trying to figure out a riddle, she'll jump from one subject to the next in one sentence.

If you're in one part of the house talking about apples she'll come out of nowhere to talk about oranges.  You can tell her the correct information about something she'll take that add something else to it, and then she'll say, "I'm older than you, I know better."  If my daughter is asleep and my husband and I are whispering she'll loudly interrupt the conversation.  To which I have to shush her and remind her, sometimes more than once, "please lower your voice, the baby is trying to sleep."  

Have you ever been around someone and all they talked about was the ex-spouse owing them?  Not only that, they harp on things in the past.  Things that happened 30, 40, 50 plus years ago.  Have you ever been around someone and they start off a conversation with, "They say?"  "They say the state is 'bout to run out of food stamps," "They say they going to start making candy from wax." Instead of picking up a newspaper to read it for herself she relies on second-hand information.

I ask my husband has she always been like this?  He said no, and that the older she gets the worst she gets.  He sometimes jokes about having to get her checked out to which she adamantly replies, "I am not crazy!"

It's sad to admit, but the only highlight of the weekend was spending it away from her and instead, spending it with my husband's old college roommate and his family.  He grilled t-bones, rib-eyes, and German-styled potatoes.  His wife and I both loved wine so we drank two bottles.  My 13 month old daughter had a wonderful time playing with their daughter and the evening flowed smooth, until we came back to my mother-in-laws.

I overhead my husband telling her that she needed prayer and that he was going to anoint her by The Father, The Son and Holy Spirit.  She shouted, "I don't care about no father, son, and holy spirit!" OH-Kay, this woman has gone far enough.   She's 70 years-old, I wonder if it's too late to get her  1) Spiritual help 2)Into some GED classes 3)Out of the environment that's bringing her down with it?

My husband tries to get her to spend time away from home but it's like competing in a decathlon to get her.  First I take my husband to the airport.  He flies from Houston to Lafayette and from there he has to find someone to pick him up because my mother-in-law refuses to drive anywhere other than the town she lives in.  Once he arrives at her house he has to take her car and drive three and half hours from her house all the way to Houston.  After her week here is up, he has to drive her all the way back home then figure out how he's going to get from her house to the airport.  Then fly from Lafayette all the way back to Houston. For some strange reason she does not want to leave her car behind, even when we spend time in Lake Charles with her sister, she'll come only if someone comes to pick her up and drive her back using her own car.  Is it too late to help her?  God, I'm praying for her and I'm praying for my husband, too.  She raised five boys and my husband is the only one who will spend time with her.  

Getting some things off my chest

Some people may or may not get this as a first impression but I am so shy to the point that I dread being around people.  Now you may say that seems a bit strange.  I work in the airline industry and come across thousands on a daily basis.  That's true but that's my job and with my job I can be strictly business and I don't have to get personal with the passengers.

In the back of my mind I always knew but my husband pointed it out to me; I have anti-social behavior.  I admit, I am a loner.  I don't talk much on the phone, I don't text, and I don't do a lot of visiting or have visitors at my house.  I prefer being curled up on the sofa reading a good book or sitting with my lap top hammering out pages.  I've always been this way. I'll go on vacation by myself, I'll go to the movies by myself, I'll even dine alone.  I attribute a lot of this behavior to the way I grew up.  When I was six, my parents moved my sister and I away from a neighborhood where there were kids everywhere.  I had no problem going from house to house playing with the other kids and visiting with their parents too. Then we moved to a neighborhood where all we had were each other.  The neighbors didn't look like us and their children were grown. 

Now as my sister and I got older, she started hanging out with a lot of her friends whereas I just kind of did my my own thing.  If I never talked to another soul that was just fine with me. I remember attending my high school and people not knowing who I was, they knew my sister, but not me.  

I remember attending a retreat with a group of ladies and one of them asked, "are you always this quiet?"  I have to admit, yes, even around my own relatives I can be shy and withdrawn.  I prefer to be the wall flower instead of the social butterfly.  I admire people who can walk into a room and strike up a conversation with ease.  I may walk into a room, speak from a distance and retreat to a spot to sit down and check things out.

I've been called weird before, I've been called sneaky, and even a little eccentric.  There are times when I just don't care what people think of me and other times where every opinion about me matters.

Some of my friends get angry with me because I don't share a lot of myself with them.  My husband says in order to be a friend you have to show yourself friendly.  I'm working on it and praying about it.  I get invited to a lot of socials and I'll admit, it's not cool to be on the outside looking in.  Everyone gets the inside joke and you're always the odd one out.  I'll be honest, sometimes I get a bit lonely.  Sure I have my husband and my daughter always keeping me on my toes but sometimes you need friends to come by and swoop you up to say, "Hey Wendy, let's go to bible study, or hey Wendy let's go check out that new stage play."

I may not be the loudest person in the group or the one with all the witty jokes but I'll be the listener and I'll go as far as being the designated driver.  I wish people reading this will see that I'm trying and working on getting out of my comfort zone.  I'm praying to God for help more so now than ever before.  Just thought I'd get this off my chest.

"Spring Cleaning" on the brain...

With music playing softly in the background, I hammer away a scene on my keyboard, one in which the main character falls for her mentor.  The setup is at a campground in which Zydeco music is heard and people are two-stepping and swinging out. As she Zydecos with her mentor she catches a leg cramp.  Her mentor uses his expertise in the powerful way of healing and he gently kneads the spot where she feels the most pain.  Their quiet interaction speaks volumes.  The careful consideration he takes into making sure she feels better.  The way she stares at him, never before having him up so close that she notices his scars.  She inquires of each one and punctuates each inquiry with the soft tip of her finger.  She takes her finger and traces the outline of his full lips.  He takes her hand and kisses the inside of her palm.

            I am so deep into the scene, writing and rewriting to make sure it works that I don’t realize I’ve spent six hours just trying to make sure I give them the right words, I even try to imagine myself as the character.  I have a digital recording of my Instructor giving me pointers on how to fine tune the scene.  Now all I need is a way to transition it from a quiet little scene on the back of a double cab pickup to a scene filled with passion so intense the reader feels it.

            I put it aside and close my eyes more so to rid myself of an impending headache. Jeremiah floats in my mind like a sheet of paper being blown by a mighty gust of wind.  I try to remember his face and just can’t get past his eyes.  There is something about them.  I remembered how his long lashes fluttered when he tried to see what all I had to offer from behind the counter. I force myself to halt my thoughts of him and be about the task at hand.  My cell phone rings.

That thing’s supposed to be off when I’m writing.  I glance at the ID and see Jeremiah’s number.  Just as I reach over to answer, it stops.  Oh, no he didn’t.  I glance at my cell again to make sure it’s the right number.  I even go so far as to compare it to the number on the paper he had given me.  Why did he do that? I want to call back and ask but I am too afraid for fear that I might appear desperate...

Easy Like Sunday Morning

I had a very good and pleasant weekend.  My hubby and I along with our year-old daughter loaded up the bags and headed east to Creole Country.  I love going to Creole Country.  People you don't know share their lives and their homes with you.  You are always somebody's "Bebby," or "Boo," or "Chere."  The atmosphere is always festive, and the food.  Don't get started on food.  Anybody who knows me, knows how I am about my health and my food.  I'm a veggies type of girl (particularly green vegetables),  lightly steam and crunchy to taste. But when I'm in Creole Country, my taste for veggies fall by the wayside.

There is a place in Lake Charles called "Famous," and they have the absolute best boudain, it's an even amount of meat, rice and just the right amount of seasoning.  My one year old could eat it and not flinch.  And check this...they have smoked and sauteed cracklins.  What is cracklin'? Cracklin is fried pork skin.  It gets it's name from the sound it makes when the skin hits the grease or better yet, when you pop it into your mouth.  

I admit, I'm a sucker for the sauteed cracklins.  When you go inside the place, you are greeted with the overwhelming smell of creole spices.  But there they are sitting pretty in a nice roasting pan just waiting to be scooped up.  They are loaded with vinegar, seasoning all and hot sauce and if spicy isn't your thing, then I wouldn't recommend it. 

There is a Daquiri shop/sports bar called House of Soul that hubby and I go to.  The first time I went (two years ago), my husband recommended the 190 Octane.  I ordered a medium and just like the name says, I was lit.  This time around I knew better and got a small one. 

That Sunday, I missed church but it sure felt good to walk out on the porch and speak my gratitude and blessings in the air.  I am thankful for so many things but most of all I am thankful for Jesus.  I know because of Him I have grace...even when I'm not suppose to eat swine or drink joy juice, He still loves me.  I took it easy for the rest of the day and enjoyed the atmosphere. It was laid back and peaceful, just the way I like it.

Snippets from "Spring Cleaning"

The van ride to the hotel was an interesting one.  Nightfall had just settled in over Aruba and I couldn’t help but think about Natalie Holloway, the girl who disappeared.  On the radio, Backseat Judy by Mad Lew plays.

            “There’s your baby’s daddy.”  Lucky shouts behind us, startling me and Whitney. 

            My ear was ringing. “Everybody on the island heard you.” I said.

            “Driver, turn it up.” Lucky starts popping his fingers and rocking in his seat, “Where are the clubs around here, I'm feeling like Ginger Rogers tonight.”

            “We have Carlos and Charlie’s.”

            “I’ve heard of that place.”  Vincent says, “I believe that’s where Natalie Holloway was seen last wasn’t it?”

            “That place is wild.”  The First-Officer adds.

            Lucky stops dancing and leans forward.  “As in how wild?”

            The Driver coasts to a stop, “They have wet t-shirt contests, beer drinking contests, tequila drinking contests.”

            “I don’t wanna see no chee-chees.”  Lucky sits back in his seat.  Roxy is next to him, too preoccupied with her cell phone to be bothered with us.

            “We’re game for drinks.”  Vincent says to the First-Officer and the rest of us.  “Roxy are you coming?”  He asks.

            “I’m meeting someone.”

            “Who do you know in Aruba?”  Eddie asks, speaking for the rest of us.

            “Why is it your concern?”  Her around-the-way-Bronx attitude is in full effect.

            Eddie not one to bite his tongue, “I’m not, you can trust me on that.” 

            Whitney glances over her shoulder. “You have a myspace date?”  She askes.

            I hear Roxy sigh and suck her teeth, “Again, I’m telling you what I told your boy.” She closes her cell phone.

            Whitney hunches me, “She met somebody online.”

            “Whitney you know what you can do and driver will you TURN THAT DAMN RADIO OFF!”

            “Hey, watch your mouth.”  Eddie says.

            “Roxy, was that necessary?”  Vincent adds.

            Lucky forever the peacemaker, gives her hug and a squeeze.

            “That’s all she needs. Shame on you, you and you.”  He points to me, Eddie and Whitney.  I look back and notice her scowling at him and him looking back at her and trying his best to not laugh.

***

            The bartender at the hotel says $12.50 for a margarita.  We say no thank you and walk outside across the street, past the casino and follow the sound of the live salsa band.  I figure where there is salsa playing there are reasonably priced drinks.  The First-Officer and myself, along with Whitney and Victor find a table for four.  They order beers you only find in Aruba.  Whitney and I like our fruity drinks so we order margaritas.

            On a 25 inch-television screen above the bar the Dallas Mavericks are playing the Phoenix Suns.  Victor and the First-Officer talk basketball and airplanes.  Whitney and I nurse our drinks and comment on why the bird handlers across the walk from the restaurant have colorful parrots, and toucan chained to the perch.

            “Isn’t that animal cruelty?”  I feel a sudden sadness.  Those birds are too beautiful to be chained.

            “Reminds me of life before I got married.”  Whitney says with her eyes still glued on the birds.  Her expression turns somber.

            “Honey, what’s the matter?”  I admire how Victor is in tune with her.  She points to the birds.

            “I don’t like how they have those birds chained.  I want to tell them about it.” Victor gently taps her hand.  “Sweetpea, there’s no PETA in Aruba, leave them alone.”

            “I feel the same way when I see those horses in New York City with all that stuff weighing them down and they have those blinders.”  She mimes as she speaks, “Up near their eyes with that sack trailing behind.”

            “The sack is a good thing, the streets would be in a lot worst shape than they are now.”

            I add my two cents.  “I don’t like when people abuse dogs.”  My mother has two small dogs that she treats so much like children she even allows them to sleep with her.

            “Maybe I should join PETA.”  Whitney says half jokingly, “My girlfriend Nikki has a couple of furs that I want to take out and burn.”

            Victor takes her margarita glass to examine it. “They put a lot of alcohol in this?”

            “I don’t have a buzz, yet.”  She says, “When I do, you’ll know.”

Another snippet from "Spring Cleaning"

I pull out Jeremiah’s number and contemplate whether or not to call him.  It’s seven-thirty Seattle time which means it’s nine-thirty in Houston.  Today is Wednesday and he is probably sitting at a happy hour somewhere on Richmond enjoying a beer with a few of his co-workers.  Or, he is out on a hot date with an exotic looking girl sipping on Mumms Cuvee and  listening to smooth jazz.  A single young, good-looking man like himself could be doing a number of things besides sitting at home.  I take a leap of faith and dial his number.  By the fourth ring I hear the phone pick up and I hear a soft shallow voice utter, “Hello.”

            I am about to leave a message before I realize he is on the other line. 

            “Hi Jeremiah, I expected your answering machine to pick up.”

            “I’m unwinding, sipping a little cognac and listening to some music.”

            “How was work?”

            “Double shift.  My dogs are killing me.”

            An image of Jeremiah in his uniform pops into mind.  I’ve always seen him from the waist up so I envision his forest green shirt with the AirExpress emblem and ID badge dangling around his neck.

            “You sound really tired.”  I say for lack of a better word.

            “I’m much better now.” He says just as the tempo of his voice increases. I hear a Louisiana based dialect that wasn’t there before.

            “I just knew you were out somewhere having yourself a good time.”

            “Why do you say that?” 

            “A single good-looking guy could find a lot to do on a Wednesday night.  Don’t you have a girlfriend?”  It’s not uncommon for a guy to be involved and still dabble on the side.

            “No girlfriend at the present.”

            An alarm went off.  I’m not looking to get involved but you can’t tell that by my conversation.

            “Have you ever been married?”

            “I was married for ten years.”  Wow, that’s a lifetime in today’s age.

            “Any children?”

            “No.”  Dear Lord, something’s wrong with his soldiers.

            “How old are you?”

            “How old do I look?”  Thirty-five.

            “I might guess the wrong age.”

            “You’ll be surprised.”

            “Thirty-seven.” I blurted out.

            “You’re way off.  I’m forty-two.”

            “You’re not forty-two.”

            “Yes I am.”

            “You easily had me fooled.”

            “You should see me when I haven’t shaved. That gray starts sprouting like wild grass.”

            “Salt and pepper looks sexy on you.”  I don’t want to sound too suggestive.

            “I’m a little self-conscious of it.”

            “They have dye in a box you could use.”

            “No way. That’s not me.”

            “So tell me about your marriage, what happened?”  I open the curtains to my hotel room.  Darkness is just falling across the Seattle sky. I pull up a chair and rest my feet on top of a desk.  I don’t care if I have to get up around five-thirty tomorrow morning. I am on the phone with Jeremiah and I am all ears.

            “You want the Reader’s Digest version?”

            “I want your interpretation of it.”  I was told there were three sides to every story.  His side, her side and the truth.

            “My ex-wife was a very selfish woman.”

            “Did you know this before you married her?”

            “I saw signs of it but I was too blind to see it.  You know about that?”

“Boy don’t I.”

 “When we met she had no college degree and she was still living at home with her mother.”

            “Where did you meet her?”

            “We worked in customer relations.”

            “What was the initial attraction?” 

            He paused.  I don’t know if he was thinking or taking a sip from his glass.

            “She was outgoing, witty, charming.  She carried herself with a lot more class than most of the women at the office.  She was well-traveled, she came from a really good family.”

            “When did you start seeing the truth?”

            “About two years into the marriage.  I saw how she dealt with money.  I worked so she could go back to school.  She got her bachelor’s degree and worked part-time and I thought that once she got her degree she would join the workforce.  But, she went back to school and got her master’s degree.  She applied for loans that she didn’t really need and went shopping like she had a million dollars.  She ended up getting a car she couldn’t afford.  I thought once she got her master’s degree that she would get a job.  But no, she went back and got a doctorate...”