2018, Feb 4, 3a.m., Sunday.

I last spoke with my love, held his hand, and kissed his head at 2 a.m. this morning.  I prayed over him.  My grandmother's words came to me when she told me how her husband passed away. "How much longer?" Why would I think of that right now?  Why would I be repeating those words while I hold my husband's hand?  It's not his time! I shrugged it off and resumed praying for him.  He was struggling and fighting.  It was so hard to watch and EVEN THEN I didn't realize what was happening.  I thought he was getting better.  The nurse, Karen, told me they had called for dialysis.  Why?  I don't understand.  He was getting better!   Earlier in the day, his kidney (creatinine) levels were 1.96 after coming down from 2.54. (Normal levels, which is what he had before the heart attack, are 1 and under.  His was at .8).   When those higher numbers were coming down, I thought that meant he was getting better.  When Karen told me they'd called for dialysis, I didn't get it.  I didn't understand.  If only I'd known.  I would have held his hand longer.  I would have told him I loved him even more.  I would have asked him important questions.  I would have prayed harder.  I would have called his family earlier.  If only I'd known.  I wish I'd known.

He looked up at me with those big baby blues and asked me if they were working on the transfer.  "Are they moving me?  I need to get to the VA Hospital."  I said, "Yes.  They are."  I told him that they were labeling tubes and wires, and they're getting him ready to go.  I said to him, "Babe, you need to relax and rest so your body can heal for me.  I need to you to heal and come home to me. The girls love you and need their daddy. I need you. I love you."  Then I told him that I needed to get out of nurse Karen's way.  She was buzzing all around and I kept having to move to get out of her way.  I told him I would be in the waiting room and she would come get me if she needed me for anything.  I told him again that I love him.  He said,  “Okay. I love you too. See you later.”  Then I left him!  How STUPID can a person be?  WHAT kind of wife am I?  I LEFT HIM!!!!  I NEVER SHOULD HAVE LEFT HIM!!!   I was just so tired and thought it would be okay to go to the waiting room and get a little rest before going back to be with him.  

When I got to the waiting room, it was around 2:10 a.m.  Something deep within me came bubbling up and out sounding like a desperate wail, a howl almost, and I began crying hard and loud.  I was alone.  No one seems to hear me.  I don't know why I was crying so hard.  I thought I was just overtired.  I'd been awake for over 30 hours and hadn't really eaten.  Even crying, I settled down a little and laid down to try to nap, fully intending to get up again in a few minutes and go back in to see him.  I don't know how long I dozed off an on, but as I did so, I heard an odd, soft “whoosh” or "pah" sound, kind of like soft birds wings flapping. I sat up, looked at an AC vent, and thought, “That was strange.”   A door opened and the nurse walked in.  

She said to me, "He stopped breathing.  We called an ER trauma doctor up.  They're working on him now.  You need to come with us."   They took me to a smaller, private, family room where they told me to wait.  They said the doctor would be in to talk to me in a minute.  They walked out and left me alone again.  I still had hope that he was going to be okay.  I was still thinking that they're gonna come back and tell me he was breathing and the next 24 hours were touch and go.  I'm still hanging on to that hope.  I don't know how long they left me there.  About 20 minutes I think.  I had time to make 4 phone calls and tell his kids and family to get there ASAP.  I was in a daze.

Then the doctor came in.  She sat down next to me, took my hand in hers, and told me those horrible words.  "I'm sorry.  I did everything I could."  What?  What do you mean?  How dare you say that!  How can you sit there so calmly and tell me that!  I feel like shouting at her, "No! You did not! You did NOT do everything you could!  You LET him GO!" but I could not form the words.  I could only put my hands to my face and fall to my knees on the floor.  They put their arms around me and said they were sorry but what good is that?  My husband has left me.  He's gone.  He no longer exists.  He is not there anymore and is not coming home.  What do I do now?  How do I live without him?  How do I survive?  How do I breathe?  How do I BE?

Then the most amazing thing happened.  The doctor and the nurses .... left me.  They LEFT ME in that room ALL ALONE ... to process the information they just gave me.  ALL ALONE on my knees on that family room floor.   I stretched out face down on the floor.  I have no strength to stand up or sit in that chair.  I feel sick.  Where's the trash can?  I'm going to throw up.

I don't know how much time went by but somehow, I finally got up and shuffled to the nurses desk to ask for someone to come sit with me.  I told them I felt light headed and weak.  I hadn't been eating all week and I told them that it may be low blood sugar.  They asked if I needed to go downstairs to be evaluated.  I just shook my head no.  I slowly shuffled back to the family room. A  nurse returned with some orange juice and a turkey sandwich.  She left again.

I stared at it for a while and finally took one bite.  The door opened and his oldest son Nathan came in.  I made eye contact with him and started crying and shaking uncontrollably.  He came to me, hugged me, and held my hand.  How can I tell him?  How do I say to another person that one they love is dead?  A nurse came in and asked me "Do you want to tell him?"   I couldn't speak past this boulder in my throat, so I shook my head no, and she began talking to him.  I vaguely remember hearing her tell him something about a blood clot.  Nathan held my hand the whole time she spoke. He was so calm.  How can he be so calm right now?  This nurse is telling him his father is dead.  I'm glad he's calm.  He's like a rock.  I need a rock.  My rock is gone.

Not long after, my Charlie's sister came in with her husband.  Nathan had to tell her the news.  I still can't speak. Then everyone else arrived and Nathan assumed the role of being the one in charge.  I couldn't.  I can't function.  The nurses told us that they were going to clean Charlie up so we could see him and say our goodbyes.  I wanted to see him right then but they wouldn't let me. 

I waited a little longer for my girls to arrive.  When I had called everyone earlier, I told Sam not to tell them anything.  I would do it when they got there.  I had to be the one to tell them.  I didn't want anyone else to.  Melody came in and already knew.  She was crying before she walked in the room.  I just hugged her.  She's a smart girl.  She figured it out on the drive over.  Mariah still didn't know or couldn't or wouldn't process what was happening.  I sat her down, took her hands in mine, looked into those eyes identical to her father's and, for the first time I was able to speak, told her, "Baby.  Your Daddy is gone.  He died."  That's all I could say.  She stared at me.  No facial expression or emotion.  Just stared at me.  I could see the question in her eyes.  The "Are you joking with me right now?  Are you kidding me?  Are you serious?" question.  I said to her, "Baby, your Daddy has gone to heaven."    And I blacked out.  

I vaguely remember telling someone I need to go downstairs to the ER.  I felt weak, shakey, my heart was pounding, I couldn't focus, and even just being in the wheelchair made me dizzy.  The nurse wheeled me past his room to get to the hall to the ER.  I couldn't look at his room.  I turned my head away.  They took me to a conference room instead of an exam room.  That's weird.  Why?  I laid down on a couch with my feet up.  Someone was holding my hand the entire time.  I don't know who it was.  Someone else gave me crackers and cranberry juice.  Some time passed, I don't know how much, and I began to feel physically able to tackle this cruel life lesson I had just been handed.  Though still weak kneed, I had a new strength.  They pronounced him at 3:15a and I believe it was pushing 7a by the time I left the ER.

I went back up to the ICU waiting room where the rest of the family was waiting. Others had arrived and were waiting for me to return.  We then took turns going in to see him and say good bye.  I went in with my girls.  They were both so upset and said it wasn't fair.  They cried that they didn't get to see him and say goodbye.  I told them they did.  They had seen him and spoken to him the day before.  He had told them that he would make beignets for them when he got home.   Everyone left the room and  I stayed last for a bit.  Alone.  Holding his hand, petting his arm, he was still warm.  I began talking to him.  Yelling at him for leaving us so soon.  We had so much left to do!  I hit him on his shoulder and told him, "You were not supposed to do this to me!  We always said it would be me first!"

After a while, I got up and went out to the nurses station to sign the body release.  Then I went back to him.  Held his hand again, gave him a kiss on his big old head, and finally told him, "I'm leaving babe.  I have to go take care of things now.  I love you."  and I turned to go.  I turned back and just saw the top of his head around the curtain.  I took a step to go to him one more time but decided not to and turned back to the door.  As I opened the door to go out, his son Nathan was coming to get me and he escorted me back to the waiting area.  I told everyone that there was nothing more to do here at the hospital.  We had all said our good byes.  He was gone.  In no more pain.   

 We made plans to meet the next day.  Nathan had already made the appointment with the funeral home.  I'm glad he took care of that.   I looked around at all of them.  They were all looking at me.  As if I needed to give them directions or something.  I wanted the same thing from one of them. Someone to tell me what to do next.  I took a deep breath and told them that I needed to go to church.  What?  Where did that come from?  For some reason, I felt like that's where I needed to be.   I needed to leave the hospital, go home and change my clothes, and I needed to go to church with my church family.   I asked the girls if they wanted to go with me.  They said no and I made arrangements for them to go with other family members until I could meet up with them again later that afternoon.  They're so strong!  They're going to be strong young women!  I need them to be.   I cried all through the church service and then went to my sister's house for the next few days. 

2018, Feb 2&3, Friday & Saturday

I arrived back at the hospital that morning.  There's really not much else to say here.  I stayed by his bedside most of the day, watching monitors and taking notes.  Nurse Frank was excellent in explaining things to me.  My love talked and joked with us most of the day but later was getting uncomfortable and agitated.  They gave him something to relax him and he began talking nonsense. in his sleep.

He'd wake up long enough to try to accept visitors.  Sometimes, he'd doze while we were there.  I'm sad that I didn't really get to talk to him much except the occasional "I love you" and "Please rest".  Looking back, I should have, could have said and done so much more.  If only I'd known.

On Friday night, at about 6 p.m, I had Melody with me.  Since the night before was uneventful, I thought this night would be also.  Melody and I went to eat at the local Cracker Barrel and then headed home.  I had just pulled into the end of the driveway when the hospital called me to say that the love of my life had an elevated heart rate.  The nurse said that he had a heart beat of 190 beats per minute and they had to shock him to get it down. 

I was confused then and didn't know if I should stay home or go back to the hospital.  Since I had Melody with me, I chose to stay home and sleep with my phone.  We headed back to the hospital the second I opened my eyes Saturday morning.

All day Saturday, I was in and out of ICU.  I'm such a stupid rule follower!  When I went in, Nurse Frank was there again and told me that we needed to limit his visits this time.  I said okay.  And when his sons and older daughter came to visit him, I watched the clock.  I was worried that their visits would tire him out.  I went in once and gently asked them to go back to the waiting room in order to give him some rest.  I regret doing so now.  I wish we could have all just stood around his bedside.  I'm so sorry for that.

Later that evening, everyone left but I chose to stay close by in the waiting room.  Again, as a rule follower, I obeyed the posted ICU visitation times, not realizing that as his spouse, they didn't really apply to me.  I went in and out of his room as the night nurse said it was okay.  I would go up to the waiting room and try to rest a little then go back down to his room and pet his arm. 

2018, Feb 1, Thursday, Part 2

The ambulance arrived and the paramedics stopped at the end of the driveway.  It's a muddy mess and has been for years. It's been a real thorn in my side.  Many, many times my Charlie would order a load of dirt or gravel and that would help things for a bit.  But then more rain would come and it would be a mess again.  So, the ambulance arrives and the paramedic told me they cannot drive through mud.  There were two female paramedics.

They got out of the vehicle, got their equipment and stretcher, and made their way to the house.  They approached my love sitting in his recliner and proceeded to get his vitals.  They told him he was having a heart attack.  They told him they had to get him up and to the stretcher.  They told him he would have to help them.  He said, "Give me just a minute."  Then he pulled himself to the edge of the recliner and with their help stood up.  His next words were, "I can't see!"  He was totally blind.  With their guidance, he shuffled to the front door of the house and down the 3 steps to the stretcher.  They got him securely strapped on and turned back toward the ambulance.

I closed up the house, made sure the kids were in the truck, and turned around.  These paramedics had my love stuck in the mud on the way back to the ambulance.  They couldn't roll the stretcher.  I got mad and approached it, grabbing the part by his feet and gave it a huge tug.  I don't know where the strength came from, but all of a sudden, we were at the back of the ambulance.  They asked which hospital did I want to go to.  I said OLOL but that's a 45 minute drive on a good day.  The next closest was North Oaks in Hammond, La.  I've heard many things about North Oaks but shrugged it off.  It's a hospital.  How bad could it be?  So, I told them to take him to North Oaks as it was the closest ER.

I went back to the Suburban, got it and pulled to the end of the driveway where I sat waiting on the paramedics to do their bit and get on the road.  Once they were enroute, I could not keep up with them.

Arriving at the hospital, it was confirmed that my husband was having a heart attack.  I was given a few minutes with him, answered a few questions, and then he was whisked out for a heart cath.  Over an hour later, the doctor came to talk to me and told me he had 100% blockage in one artery and about 80% in another.  They inserted 2 stents and told me that 2 more needed to be done but there was something about his kidneys were reacting to the dye used for the cath.  That's how I understood it anyway.

Two hours later, he was in ICU. The first time I was allowed in to see him, I teased him.  I told him, "Guess what!  You get to go on a diet!"  He smiled and turned to the nurse and teasingly replied, "Who is this woman?  I don't know her!"   I asked many questions and talked to him.  Told him I'd called his sisters and older kids.  He chastised me saying they didn't need to miss work for this and that his sisters would just worry.  He started to argue about getting moved to the VA hospital in New Orleans.  We talked about so many other things that I don't remember.  The nurses were all around us.  I was never able to ask my husband questions.  I just signed what they put in front of me.  I answered their questions to the best of my ability.  I stayed with him for a while.  But because I'm a dadgummed rule follower, when they said visiting hours were such and such, I made a point to be there at those times and no different.  It never occurred to me that I could have stayed with him the entire time.  I could have slept right there the whole time.

I left that night and went home to sleep.  I thought about packing him a change of clothes but since he was in ICU, I knew he wouldn't need it until they told me something different.

2018, Feb 1, Thursday, Part 1

After his surgery, we were released to go home with instructions to leave his bandages for 3 days before showering.  The goal was to keep the incision clean and dry.  By the time we got home though, the bandages were saturated and we got worried.  I got worried.  We called the doctor and spoke with his surgery nurse who told us just to change the bandages, packing it tightly, and keep the incision, again, clean and dry.  By the 29th, 6 days post-op, Charlie was feeling well enough to go out on an inspection job 2 1/2 hours away (one way).  He couldn't drive yet because the doctor had not cleared him (that I know of) and beside, I wouldn't let him.  So, I drove him over to do his thing and walked with him through the shop.  He mentioned he was  sore but fine.  He finished his inspection and we enjoyed a lunch date before going home.

A few days later, on Wednesday, Jan 30,  he didn't do much around the house.  Just sat in his recliner, watching TV or doing his crosswords.  He mentioned he didn't feel well.  I asked about his incision and we checked it for infection.  I didn't see anything amiss so we redressed it with clean bandages.  I checked his temp for fever and he was running a low grade 99 but that wasn't too concerning because when I'm healthy, I run a 99 in the afternoon.  So, we thought nothing of it.

On Thursday morning, we got up to go for one more inspection run.   Again, we had to go to the job site 2 1/2 hours away.  It was 55 degrees.  He walked the 100 feet out to where I had parked the truck at the end of my very muddy driveway.  He mentioned feeling a little dizzy and thought that was odd.  Then it passed and he said he was fine. We left a little later than we should have and got stuck in traffic.  He was patiently sitting in the passenger seat, making his phone calls, checking his emails, etc.  I believe I actually began having a panic attack complete with a shooting pain across my shoulder blades, shortness of breath, AND lightheadedness.  Was I having a heart attack, panic attack, or coming down with something?  And it passed within moments.

We finally got out of the traffic and settled into the drive.  Along the way, we talked about different things but the oddest question came out of his mouth.  He asked me what would I like to do with the 40 acres of property we own.  I nearly jumped out of the driver's seat in shock!  He'd NEVER asked me what I wanted!!!  After the initial, eyes wide opened look at him, I told him, "Well, I don't know. Do you have any suggestions?"  Then he went into this little spiel about selling the timber off the property and getting a new vehicle.  Both of ours are pushing the limits and I needed a new ride for myself and our girls.  Melody will be ready for Driver's Ed this fall and will need a car (or something) as well.  I jokingly said we could wrap the Suburban in bubble wrap.  We also talked about getting the motorhome finished for the Alaska roadtrip that he wanted to go on so badly.  The 2017 Summer plans hadn't worked out and he was determined to get to it this year.

The entire ride, I still felt like I couldn't breath deep enough.  Couldn't get enough air into my lungs, below the bottom rib.  When we got there, he went into the shop and leaned back for a nap.  Approximately 45 minutes later, he came out.  I woke up when he opened the door and leaned into the truck, taking deep breaths.  He was sweating as if he'd just finished a run or hard hike.  It was 55 degrees.  I asked him if he was okay and he replied that he had to climb two flights of stairs and take two trips into the shop.  He said he thought he'd just over did it.  He mentioned being light headed again and shook his head.  Then he got into the truck.

I asked again if he was okay.  He said, "Just give me a minute."  A minute (or so) later, he made some phone calls and then handed me his phone.  He asked me to type an email to the project manager regarding the inspection, which I did.  Then he said, "Let's go get something to eat.  Maybe I'm just hungry."  We went to this cute little diner just up the road and at first, I wasn't sure they'd be open.  It was only 10:30 a.m.

We arrived and he got out of the truck, took a few steps, and stopped.  He was a little unsteady with lightheadedness again.  He insisted that he needed something to eat.  We ordered Chicken Fried Steak.  We ate and left.  This time, he said, "Maybe I need to go to the doctor."  I replied, "Well, it's 11 a.m. and we're 2 1/2 hours from home.  I have to pick the girls up from school today at 2:30."  He said, "Okay, let's get closer to home."

We drove, talked as before, he had a concerned look on his face and kept teasing me about watching him instead of the road.  We got back into our area and I asked if he still needed to go to the doctor.  He said, "No.  Just take me home.  I think I just over did it today and I just need to rest."  I said, "Okay".  (Looking back, I should have taken him straight to the ER at OLOL)

We got home appx 1:30.  He sat in his recliner and we discussed what to do about dinner.  I said I was going to get the girls, take them to piano lessons, and we'd be home about 5:30 or 6.  I walked out of the house and immediately turned around and went back in.  Gave him a kiss and told him I loved him.  He said he loved me too and get going.

About 10 minutes later, he called and asked me to get the girls and come back home to get him.  He said, "I'm feeling really uncomfortable."  Since I was arriving at the school a little early, I opted to skip the carpool line and check the girls out instead.  I explained that it was an emergency.  As soon as I had the girls, I called him to tell him I was headed back.  He sounded quite a bit distressed then.  (Looking back, I should have called an ambulance then).

I got home, got out of the Suburban, and heard a loud thump from inside the house.  I ran in to find him on the bathroom floor.  He was struggling to get up.  He kept insisting that I "give him a minute", so I did.  We managed to get him upright and to the recliner in the living room.  Then I told him I was calling 911 for an ambulance.  He argued with me and said that it would cost too much and to "give him a minute" so he could get to my truck.  I told him at this point that he did not have a choice, I was calling an ambulance.

2017 Back history with my Charlie

It's funny how you don't really notice things happening along the way.  But then you sit down and start looking back and wonder how someone lived with the pain for so long.  My husband had been officially diagnosed with degenerative disk disease, spinal stenosis, scoliosis, and bone spurs.  He'd had back surgery early in his adult life for collapsed discs.  He also suffered with gout.

My mother reminded me that during the cleanup of her house in 2016, he worked hard but had to stop due to back pain.  I had forgotten that.  Then I started remembering even further back of the projects he would start but not finish due to back pain.  I complained about him not coming to our girls concerts.  I said to myself, "Oh, but if it was a danged football game he'd go."  I didn't fully realize that he simply could not sit through the concerts.  He was suffering even in 2014 during our family trip to Alaska.  How did I miss it?  Is it because it was so gradual?  What kind of wife am I that I wasn't paying attention?

Fast forward to Jan 2017, my husband had neck surgery.  Before the surgery, he went to multiple appointments at the local VA clinic.  He was proud to be a veteran of the US Army.  All of these appointments were to provide a base line for his health etc.  Then he began experiencing some numbness in his arms and tingling in his hands.  He went for an MRI and Xrays and the results showed he had some bone spurs that were growing off his vertebrate and irritating the nerves.  He got all the pre-op clearances done, including a nuclear stress test (results showed "age related blockages" but nothing serious) and in January 2017, he underwent surgery for fusion and bone spur removal.  He said it was the worst thing he'd ever gone through, even after had a back surgery 25 years earlier!  But, he recovered and quickly got back into the swing of things.  He began planning a summer roadtrip to Alaska and bought an old junked up motorhome to refurbish for the trip.  He was never one to buy anything new.

Fast forward through summer, and the roadtrip that DIDN'T happen, and in August of 2017, his back was bothering him to the point that he began seeking surgery relief.  He never TOLD me his back was bothering him.  It was just something he silently endured and set up a strategy to deal with it.  He pushed himself through all the normal daily activities, continuing with his work duties, and never complained.  So, in August, he began setting up appointments to get this back surgery.  We consulted with a surgeon at Tulane and were instructed to take a few days to make a decision on surgery.  He thought about it one day and decided, but then it was 4 days before we could get in touch with the surgeon.  THEN, we found out that particular surgeon was no longer in the VA system.  Back to square 1.

Starting all over in November 2017 appointments, MRI's, Xrays, yada yada, we finally received notice that he could have his surgery.  At the very last minute, they wanted another cardio clearance. We took the day, drove down to the VA hospital in New Orleans (because that's where the the cardio place was) and talked to the cardiologist there.    This doctor seemed uneasy with doing a clearance without another stress test but my husband was convincing in his explanation that he'd just had one done a nearly 10 months earlier and all was fine.  The doctor stepped out of his office to consult another colleague and came back with the clearance.  My husband was still in pain but I swear there was a pep in his step.

Surgery was scheduled and we were relieved to learn that the same surgeon who performed the neck surgery will do the laminectomy.  On Jan 23, 2018, I drove him to the hospital and sat by his pre-op bedside.  A short 3 hours later, surgery was complete, post-op checks were done, and we were released to go home.   I swear he got 3 inches taller in those 3 hours!

My Bio

I was asked today to provide a bio for an upcoming choir program.  I'd never done a bio before.  Not for myself.  So, I tried to come up with something.

Everytime I read the bio of a peer, it usually starts with their name, followed by "received her Bachelor of Music Education degree in piano from Southeastern University" or something akin to that.  But mine doesn't read that way.  Mine is simply, "Church Pianist for 20 years".  So, I sat down and thought about my bio today.  So far, it goes a little something like this.

I grew up in Denham Springs, beginning my piano lessons at the young age of six and continuing until I graduated from Denham Springs High in 1985.  I had several teachers in the Denham/Walker area who provided my piano instruction.  There was ONE teacher I really wanted to take lessons from but I'd heard that she only accepted students through audition.  It wasn't until I was grown, and way past auditioning age, that I learned she wasn't really auditioning the student, she was "auditioning" the parents to see how committed they were to getting their child to lessons!

I had a musical mother and musical neighbors on three sides of my childhood home.  The fourth side had livestock.  At night, I could hear the neighbor on the left as he played country music with his band.  The sounds would float across the pasture to my bedroom window, inspiring me to one day become a famous country singer. (Yeah, you see THAT happened!)  On other days, the neighbor on the right would play a mean piano in the stylings of Floyd Kramer and I dreamt of being able to play like that someday. (I CAN!) The neighbor across the street was an aspiring opera singer.

My mother was also classically trained in voice and from time to time would need someone to play for her when she sang at local senior luncheons.  She told me once that the real reason she pushed for my piano lessons was so she would always have an accompanist at her beck and call.

I graduated high school, got married six months later, and didn't touch a keyboard for 5-7 years.  Then someone gave me a piano.  I got it tuned and proceeded to entertain myself in my living room.  Not long after that, I got divorced.

A few years later, in 1997, I remarried.  That same year, I'd heard that my childhood church home needed a pianist as they were beginning a new 2nd service on Sunday mornings.  I called the music director to ask about the position and was told to be at choir practice the following Wednesday night.  I showed up and 20 years later, I'm still there as church pianist and choir accompanist.  During that 20 years, I have also accompanied Doyle and Walker High School Choirs, under the direction of Sherri Shelton and Margaret Pfeil, and Denham Springs Jr. High, under the direction of Karen McGibboney, for their District Festival performances as well as Christmas and End of Year concerts.   I have also played at weddings and funerals.

I really just wanted to be a veterinarian and an Indian Princess when I grew up.

The Horoscope Isn't Always Correct, but Every Once In a While

Hunny has been patiently waiting for some items he ordered for the motor-home to be delivered.  Most of the things he ordered came promptly to our door.  This ONE item has not arrived though and he's been a little impatient for it. 

He got on his computer, looked up Amazon to see his order, got the tracking number, went to the UPS site and plugged the number in.  It shows the items was delivered and left at the "side door".  Um, we don't have a "side door".  So, he notated the phone number on the UPS site and called them.  Of course, the computer answered the phone and he was directed through a series of "press 1, 2, 3, etc."  A few minutes later, he hung up the phone and went back to the Amazon site to go through the whole process again. Fifteen minutes later, his blood pressure is up and he's snappy.  I have no idea what he's doing over in the corner with the computer.  I just know he needs a break.

I walk over to him and tell him gently to "Please, step away from the laptop" and "Put down the phone." He's not a happy camper. He makes his way to his favorite living room chair and attempts to get comfortable.  I settle down in the office chair and look at the Amazon website for the item information.  Then I move to the UPS website for tracking information.  I click "Lost Package" and am directed to another page on which there is a phone number.

I call the phone number and got the automated robot.  Instead of going through all the numbers, I just press 0.  To my relief, a human answers the line and offers her assistance.  She asks questions and I give answers, yada yada.  In the end, a claim for the lost package has been made, Amazon has been contacted for a refund, and an investigation for the package has begun.

I turn to Hunny and jokingly ask him, "Do you have any more booboos for Mama to kiss and make better?"  He glares at me and say, "It's not funny!" and goes back to reading his newspaper.

I barely have left the office chair and took two steps when I heard him take a deep sigh, and mumbled under his breath, "You've gotta be kidding me."

I question him and he shows me the Horoscope printed in the paper today.

His: "Emotions will take control and should be channeled into something that will make your life and a relationship with someone you love better."

Mine: "Jump in and get things done.  Your ability to adapt, take charge and make things happen will turn you into the go-to person." 

Bwah-hahaha-hahaha.  I find the whole thing quite hilarious.  Just remember, the Horoscope is not always right, but Every Once in a while, it'll surprise ya.

Whew! It's been a day!

The past two days have had me depressed and anxious.  My Dahlin' had to go to some inspection jobs and it's been a little unusual for me since he's semi-retired and always around. So, he's left me home alone for a few days and I feel a bit out of sorts.

Yesterday, after taking my girls to their piano lesson and returning home for the evening, I pulled into my 70 foot long driveway and parked my Suburban in it's normal spot.  We got out of it, came into the house, and got settled for the evening.  The truck has been having it's issues lately, I mean, it has 300,501 miles on it.  Two years ago, the Reverse went out on the transmission and we repaired that.  Now, it's leaking oil and water but still driving good as long as I keep an eye on things.

So, last night, we go to bed and I didn't sleep well.  I tossed and turned all night.  This morning, I get up to get the girls ready for school and my husband asks me about a transaction on our checking account.  Apparently, earlier this week, someone had themselves a Macy's shopping spree, grabbed some groceries at Rouse's, got some meds at Walgreen's, grabbed a coffee at McDonald's, then got a CocaCola and a steak dinner .... all on my dime!!!  $383.38 worth! 

Hunny leaves for work and I tell him that I'm going to the bank as soon as they open to take care of this mess.  Approximately 8 a.m., I go out to my Suburban, you know, the one I just drove home yesterday evening?  I get in it, put the key in and start it up.  Then I put it in Reverse and can you guess what happened?  Nothing.  Nada.  Not a dang thing.  Puzzled, I move the shifter to Drive and what happened then?  Nothing.  Nada.  Not a dang thing.  My non-mechanical brain automatically thinks, "Oh, Joy.  The transmission has gone out and now we'll have to get that replaced."  Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine the events that transpired next.

I call Hunny to tell him what's going on.  After a few choice words, he tells me just take care of the bank thing over the phone and he'll be home soon to look at my truck. 

About 11:30 a.m. he pulls up.  I greet him with a sandwich and we talk a bit and then we head out to look at the truck.  He instructs me to get in and turn the key on.  "Put it in Reverse.", he says.  Same as before, nothing happens.  Puzzled, he then says, "Try Drive?".  Again, nothing.  He then lays on his back and shimmies up under the truck.  Then he hollers at me, "Kill it!"  So I do.

He crawls out from under the truck and says to me, "So, how in the hell did you get up the driveway without a drive shaft?" Huh?  There's no drive shaft?  With a shrug, I said, "I don't know."  followed by, "Where would it be?  It couldn't have gone far."  He asks, "Did you hear anything at all when you came up the driveway? A loud bang or anything?"  Me, "Nope."

We went for a walk down the drive looking for the missing drive shaft.  Then we took his truck and drove about 1/4 mile down the road to look for it.  It is gone!  We come back and he crawls under the truck again and says, "That's odd.  All 4 bolts are missing from the deferential. I can understand two, but ALL 4?"

After walking around the yard while scratching our heads, we finally conclude that this drive shaft did not just fall off and roll away where it can't be found.  It HAD to have grown legs and walked off!  Literally! 

We looked around for evidence but there isn't any.  If there was anything in the dirt under the truck, it got scrubbed away when he crawled under to look at it.  We decided that someone came into our yard after we went to bed.  They bebopped up my 70 foot drive with a little ol' tool in their hand, crawled under my truck and helped themselves to my drive shaft.  Leaving me stranded at home with no way around.  I guess they figured they needed it more than I did. 

We called the police and filed a report but that's not gonna get my part back.  Now, Dahlin' is calling all the salvage yards he can find to get a replacement but it's not easy.  Apparently, my model of vehicle is a popular one.  I wonder if the thief knows that the drive shaft he stole has over 300,000 miles on it?

After having #1 - my debit card compromised, and #2 - my drive shaft taken off my truck within 30 feet of my front door, I'm wondering what #3 is gonna be.  I think I'll go take a nap.  Maybe the world will be all sunshine and roses when I wake up.

Down Home Grill Cafe, Livingston, La

Location: 29437 S Frost Rd Livingston, Louisiana 70754

Hours:  9-3, M-F

Phone:  (225) 686-1197

The Down Home Grill Cafe in Livingston has been open for a couple of years now and serves only breakfast and lunch.  I have eaten there several times before and usually have a pretty good experience.  Today, my husband and I decided to drop in for lunch and, on a whim, I decided I'd do a review.   

The place isn't fancy.  There are no elaborate decorations.  It has brown Formica topped tables and vinyl chairs.  There is also a bar.  

For our lunch today, my husband and I strayed from the usual menu and chose to have the offered specials.  We did not order any appetizers.  Our drinks were the standard Unsweetened Tea.  

My husband had the All You Can Eat Fried Catfish with a side of Fried Okra and Potato Salad ($12).  Catfish fillets were coated in Cornmeal and deep fried to a golden brown color.  They had a crispy snap at the bite.  The Fried Okra, Potato Salad, and Texas Toast were a nice accessory to the meal.
  

I chose what the waitress called the Atchafalaya (Fried Catfish smothered with Crawfish Etoufee) with a side salad and Texas Toast ($13).   Again, the Fried Catfish was wonderful!  However, the Crawfish Etoufee was a little spicy for me.  It had a good flavor but after a few bites, I could no longer tell that I had taste buds.  My sinuses were cleared though!  

Our waitress, Rebecca, was beautiful, polite, and attentive to our needs.  She must have been watching from across the room.  My husband had one Fried Catfish fillet left on his plate when she appeared with more.  It was, after all, All You Can Eat.  She also noticed when our drinks were a little low and refilled them promptly.  We didn't have to ask her for anything at all!

We will be back.

 

 

Happy 2017!

Today is the 2nd day of the New Year!  We didn't do much around my house to celebrate.  In fact, I've been online most of the day doing genealogy research and road trip planning.  So far this year, we have had heavy rains resulting in a Flood Watch for Jan 1 and a Tornado Watch for Jan 2.  The weatherman is predicting blue skies for Jan 3.  We'll see.  Meanwhile, I began reading some of my old posts on the blog here. 

I need to get busy!  One of my first posts had to do with my bucket list.  I posted that list 7 years ago!  I haven't made much headway on it either.  Looking at it now is a bit depressing!   I need to add "Hiking the Appalachian Trail" to that list but I honestly don't see how that will ever get done.  I can just imagine what kind of shape I would be in after hiking that trail.  I'd be one hot mama!

Teaching Piano Lessons

The following article appeared in a newspaper but I don’t know WHICH newspaper.  Apparently, I clipped off the date info.

Parents, it’s okay to push your little piano student, but not off the bench

By Taprina K. Millburn

The whining and excuses begin as soon as I call my son into the living room.

He sits, begins to wiggle and explains that he has a rash on his arm.  No wonder, it’s time for piano practice.

He pecks on middle C and turns to me and tells me about a kid at school who stuffed toilet paper up his nose.

“Let’s talk about that after we practice,” I say.

Curl your fingers like spiders, I tell him and demonstrate to him how his teacher wants his fingers placed on the keys.

“I don’t like spiders,” he tells me.

Then he begins to scratch his invisible rash.

“I need to go to the bathroom; I’ll be right back,” he says as he hurries off.

His teacher tells me that my son, as a kindergartner, should only practice for five minutes a day.

It’s the longest five minutes of my life.

When he returns, I help place his fingers on the keys and listen to him ping out “Cowboy Joe.”  Wonderful, I tell him.

Four more minutes.

“Am I finished, yet?” he asks. “Because I really have to pee again.”

He stomps on the damper pedals and forgets where to begin, although I’ve pointed to middle C at least a hundred times.

My patience is slipping away.  How I wish it weren’t true, but as my son squirms and slides his bottom from side to side on the wooden piano bench, pretending to ride a wild horse, I feel my good humor being siphoned out.

He continues to look for other things to say or do – anything but playing his assignment.

That’s when I use my foghorn voice and his whining turns into real tears.

“It’s more fun playing for my piano teacher.  You’re grumpy,” he says to me and sits on his hands in protest.

If you rode her piano bench she’d be irritated, too, I want to say but I hold my words.

Three more minutes.

I turn the page of his book to the next piece and he reluctantly plays the notes.

Then I wonder if I’ve turned into one of THOSE parents.  The kind who pushes their kids too much – to be the best ball players, musicians, cheerleaders, or beauty queens.

The kind of parent whose children grow up to write tell-all books about them.

“I like this song,” he says and continues to play it three more times.  He’s forgotten about his rash or that he needs another bathroom break.

One more minute.

We flip the page and the wiggling and scratching begin again, but he plays the song and smiles.

“I’m finished, right?”

Practice is over, and he packs up his books.

“How long did I practice?”

“Five minutes”

“It felt like hours,” he said with a sigh.

DAYS.

You can get in touch with Taprina by mail at King Features Weekly Service, 628 Virginia Drive, Orlando, FL  32803 or by email to letters.kfs@hearstc.com.

Wild Horses

Sometimes, across this land of silver grasses,

There comes a sound upon the listening air,

As if, along the old dim trails and passes,

Horses were there.

Galloping swiftly, riderless, unbidden,

Their smoky manes a blur against the light,

Wild horses that have never yet been ridden,

Lunging in fright

Before some scent or sound, some windward gleaning

Of distant threat, their arching necks held high,

Their ears alert to catch the inner meaning

Of step or cry …

Almost I see them down the windy weather,

Their satin muscles rippling as they run,

Wild horses that have never known a tether,

Mates to the sun.

Mates to the lightning and the crashing thunder,

The black winged night, the white on rushing dawn –

Wild Horses – Ah, the beauty and the wonder

Of things long gone!

Wild Child

By:  Shelby G. Bush to his 3^rd child, daughter Dana

Now I take my pen up to write

This daughter of mine, “Dana”, who seems to be gone almost every night

Now I can’t remember what she looks like

I’ve tried to get her to come see me with all my might

She could be fat or maybe still slim

I don’t know, because she’s always gone with a him.

Still I’ll be hoping someday soon

She’ll come and help me go run a coon

Or maybe she’ll take time to give me a call

This daughter of mine who’s no telling how tall

Oh well I guess I’ll just have to understand

How at her age she’s always chasing a man.

To My Red Haired Hussy

By my dad – Shelby G. Bush to his 2^nd wife

Now I take up my pen to write

Something other than my usual gripe

To the most special person in my life

And that is non other than my wife.

A note in which to say

How much I appreciate her every day

All the little things she does for me

Really does open my eyes to see

And now I continue on

About the last couple years gone

How she must have really cared for this man

And how I plan to return that caring, if I can.

Now as more days come to pass

I do not plan on her to hear my sass

But instead if I use my head

Before one of us is dead

To make a joy of each day

And let actions speak instead of what I might say.

The Perfect Year

Ring out the old, Ring in the new

A midnight wish to share with you

Your lips are warm, my head is light

Were we in love before tonight?

Oh, I don’t need a crowded barroom

Everything I want is here

If you’re with me next year will be the perfect year.

No need to hear the music play

Your eyes say all there is to say

The stars can fade or they can shine

Long as your face is next to mine

I don’t need a crowded barroom

Everything I need is here

If you’re with me next year will be the perfect year

We don’t need a crowded barroom

Everything we need is here

If you’re with me next year will be the perfect year

It’s New Year’s Eve and hopes are high

Dance one year in kiss one goodbye

Another chance another start

So many dreams to tease the heart

We don’t need a crowded barroom

Everything we need is here

So face to face we will embrace the perfect year.

The Friend Who Just Stands By

By  B.Y. Williams

When trouble comes your soul to try

Love the friend who just “stands by”

Perhaps there’s nothing he can do –

The thing is strictly up to you.

For there are troubles all your own,

And paths the soul must tread alone

Times when love cannot smooth the road

Nor friendship lift the heavy load.

But just to know you have a friend

Who will “stand by” until the end

Whose sympathy through all endures

Whose warm handclasp is always yours

It helps, someway, to pull you through

Although there’s nothing he can do

And so with fervent heart you cry

“God bless the friend who just stands by.”

The Baby

Where did you come from baby dear?

                Out of everywhere into the here.

Where did you get your eyes so blue?

                Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?

                Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear?

                I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and hight?

                A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?

                Something better than anyone knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?

                Three angels gave me at once a kids.

Where did you get that pearly ear?

                God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?

                Love made itself into hooks and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?

                From the same box as the cherubs’ wings.

How did they all just come to be you?

                God thought about me, and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear?

                Go thought of you, and so I am here.

By George Macdonald

Piano Lessons from time past

Written by my aunt, Irene Vinyard Bennett, as a Christmas gift to the family in December 1997.

In her accompanying letter, she wrote,

This narrative version of the truth about our piano is my 1997 Christmas present to you.

It is fairly accurate, although I can’t remember exactly when the Osborns gave us the piano, but it was between 1953 and 1960.  Daddy built the “shack” in two weeks the summer I was 11 or 12, 1953 or ’54, and then he had the Jim Walter home built in 1960, the summer I graduated from high school and had eye surgery.  I don’t know why but I don’t remember moving the piano from one to the other house.

I don’t remember exactly when, or how I went about deciding to return the piano, except it was in 1968-69 when Phil and I first lived in Nashville.  Daddy died in November, 1969.

The Christmas timing made it a better story for the contest I first wrote it for.  Our local paper, the Augusta Chronicle, chose someone else’s work to publish on Christmas Eve, so I deleted most of the fiction and changed pretend names back to the real ones just for you, but I left the fictional Christmas reference.

               

PIANO LESSONS

“Whispering Hope,” the large group of post-World War II teenagers in Sunday School that day sang a cappella because the adult classes had asked the only two youth pianists, Ray Lee and Judy Osborn, to accompany them.

“That makes me SO mad,” Irene complained to her friend, Virginia Bailey.  “Why don’t the adults let them stay in here?  They don’t seem to realize that we need a pianist, too!”  A little while later, she said, “I think I’ll just teach myself to play, so we won’t have to sing without music anymore!”

“Oh, can you really do that?” Virginia asked.

“Watch me,” replied Irene.

Irene Vinyard lived in Hammond, a small town in southeastern Louisiana, with her parents, maternal grandmother, and five younger brothers and sisters.  Her father worked as a maintenance man for Southeastern Louisiana College on the north side of town, while Mama and Grandma cared for the children on the south side of Hammond, in their crowded, three-room home Daddy had built with salvaged lumber in 1953 during his two-week vacation.  They all affectionately called it the Tar Paper Shack because of its single-canted roof and black insulating paper-covered walls.  The paper was attached with roofing nails and shiny protective washers.  Somehow he never got around to finishing it with the siding common to the gabled-roof houses in the neighborhood.  Every Sunday they walked about two miles to the small Woodland Park Baptist Church for Bible study and worship.

At Sunday Dinner when Irene told the family about her idea, Mama frustrated her by saying, “We don’t have the money to pay for lessons, and we don’t have a piano for you to practice on.  I don’t see how you can learn to play.”

One Sunday afternoon Irene went to church early.  Discovering no one in the fellowship hall, she began with one finger to pick out the melody of a hymn on the piano.  Several years of school chorus classes had taught her to read music, and she already knew the tunes from singing in church services.  However, as soon as anyone entered the room, she stopped, self-conscious about her lack of skill.

Such a start-and-stop-and-start-and-stop method might appear to be quite ineffective.  But, week after week as she tried to play with one finger, then two fingers, improvement gradually came.

First, the soprano, then the alto, next the tenor and bass lines, individually and then together – Irene worked determinedly one afternoon on the song, “Wonderful Words of Life.”  Suddenly she clapped and shouted, “Hooray!  Hooray!!”

“What’s all the yelling?” asked Raymond Osborn, coming in the door.

“Success!”  she grinned.  “That’s the first time I’ve played a hymn all the way through with both hands.”

“Well, congratulations,” the family friend replied. “Who is your piano teacher?”

“Me!” she joked and then said, “Seriously, no one.  I’m just trying to learn on my own.”

“Keep up the good work,” he said on his way out of the room.

Not long after that exchange, Irene received a call from Mrs. Pottle, a local piano teacher and wife of the head of the music department at Southeastern College.  She said, “Irene, I would like to teach you to play the piano without charging you.  Can you come over Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock?”

“Of course,” a surprised Irene said quickly.  “Thank you!”

On Tuesday afternoon, Mrs. Pottle explained, “A friend of your asked me to teach you.  He thinks you have promise as a pianist, so let’s begin.”

For thirty minutes, Irene was thrilled, carefully following instructions as she played the marvelous baby grand piano in the living room of the Pottles’ large, two-story, white frame house with a wrap-around porch next to the railroad near the college campus.  Then Dr. Pottle arrived home.

“What is happening here?” he asked.

“Meet Irene, my newest student,” she replied.

“Oh, no,” he announced, “you are not taking on another student.  You have been ill and there is no way you can add something else right now.  You know what the doctor said!”

Irene sat in stunned silence until an embarrassed Mrs. Pottle reluctantly said, “He’s right, Irene.  I really want to teach you, but I can’t at this time.”

So after only one half of a piano lesson, a dejected Irene plodded home alone.

Later on a warm July evening, as the Vinyard family ate their usual beans and rice and cornbreadc supper, the phone rang.  Mama answered it and almost immediately said, “Oh, no!”  When she finished talking, she turned and said, “Raymond Osborn has had a heart attack!”

After his hospitalization, Mr. Osborn recuperated at home for several weeks.  The doctor thought the south Louisiana heat in an unair-conditioned office might be too stressful for Raymond.  On his first day at home, his wife, Emilie, called Irene.

“Dr. Aycock wants someone to be with Raymond at all times in case of an emergency.  Since I work in the mornings and Ray Lee and Judy both have other obligations, I need help.  Would you come and sit with him?”

“Of course,” Irene answered.

When Irene arrived at the Osborn home the next morning, Mrs. Osborn explained, “I need you here while I work from 8:30 until 11:30 and then I will come home to prepare lunch.  Each day my husband will rest in the living room and read or do his paperwork.  You may bring something of your own with you to do.  If there is any problem, call the emergency number for help and then call me at my work number posted next to the phone.”

“Irene,” Mr. Osborn asked, as his wife left the house, “how are your piano lessons coming along?”

“I’m improving, sir,” she replied truthfully, “but it’s hard to do when I only practice once or twice a week at church.”

“Let’s make this a useful time then,” he suggested.  “We moved the old upright our children used into the hallway under the stairs when we bought our baby grand.  Why don’t you play it every day while you are here?  I will correct you when I hear something wrong.”

Delighted, she headed for the piano stool and twirled around on it until it was the right height.  “Start with some favorite of yours,” he called from the living room.  So she tried Christmas carols, only to discover that except for “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” most were written in keys she had difficulty playing.  She decided to try an easier hymn, “The Light of the World Is Jesus.”

“No, no, no,” Mr. Osborn finally objected.  “Stop jumping around, Irene.  Start with Hymn Number One, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” and work on it until you can play it all the way through without a single mistake!”

Irene groaned, but complied – day after day, three hours each morning for two weeks!  Following the same practice pattern she used at church, she could soon play several familiar hymns.  For some inexplicable reason, flats were always easier to play than sharps, so she preferred songs with those key signatures.  More importantly, she definitely developed the habit of daily practice.  So, after her “adult-sitting” job ended, she returned to her sporadic sessions at the church piano.  However, she still wasn’t ready for an audience of more than one.

Shortly before Christmas, Daddy cut a small pine tree from the nearby woods, anchored it in a pail of rocks, and all the children decorated it.  Reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books about frontier family life inspired the Vinyards to make popcorn strings and cranberry rope of their own.  Presents, however, were meager.

On Christmas Eve, a big truck backed into the front yard and five strong men piled out of it.  With Daddy’s help, they unloaded the extremely heavy piano that Irene practiced on at the Osborn home.  Maneuvering and re-maneuvering, they finally managed to squeeze it into Grandma and the girls’ ten-by-sixteen-foot bedroom along side their two full-sized beds, a cedar chifforobe, and a bookcase topped with a black rotary-dial telephone.  As they called “Merry Christmas!” and drove away, all the children were shouting, “Play something, Irene!”

Excitedly she tried, only to discover that all eighty-eight keys were stuck hard and fast.  Not a sound came from that piano!  With disappointment written all over her face, Irene cried, “What an awful Christmas present!  Why would anyone give us a piano that we can’t play?”

Daddy explained, “The roof at the Osborn house leaked and dripped water onto the piano, Irene; and no one saw it until it was too late.  Raymond thought we might be able to save it enough for you kids to enjoy anyway.”

“But, how?” they all chorused.

An experience maintenance person, Daddy thought out loud, “The presence of a steady, low heat should dry out wet wood so it doesn’t crack.  Let’s hang a light inside the piano that will burn all the time,” he proposed.

He quickly installed the bulb and then instructed them, “Every day, I want each one of you to play every key at least once.” And, that’s what six children, and sometimes Grandma, did, day after day, until the sound of each ivory-less key slowly rejoined the piano.  A trained musician would have flinched at the cacophony, but to Irene and her siblings, the old piano made mellow music.

With everyone wanting to play, the home-grown piano lessons sometimes became so enthusiastic that Daddy had to yell for peace and quiet.  Everyone, even the boys, Charles and Gary, took turns plunking away, although not all persevered to conquer the instrument.  Soon the once-wet-now-dry Christmas piano added daily tunes of joy to their lives.

Ultimately Irene reached her original goal.  Her friend, Virginia, proudly watched as she, and eventually two other sisters, play hymns on Sunday morning for the sixty-five teenagers in the Intermediate Department.  Later, on Youth Sunday, the Osborns and the Vinyards all beamed with pride as Irene played the organ and sister, Paulette, the piano.  Of course, Irene used the foot pedals only on “Flee As A Bird,” the offertory she and Paulette had worked on for hours.

Irene decided her next challenge would be to play hymns she didn’t know, so she began to sight read and then deliberately to learn new songs.  Her skills grew until she began to accompany congregational singing at the SLC Baptist Student Union chapel services and eventually she became the pianist for Sheilah Baptist Church in Tickfaw, a nearby community.

Several years later, Irene learned an even different piano lesson, when Daddy telephoned her to say, “Ray Lee, the oldest Osborn daughter, asks that we return the piano to her.”

Shocked and hurt, Irene asked angrily, “Why would anyone want to take back a Christmas present?  Especially after all these years?”

“Well, Irene,” Daddy explained, “she and her husband are into collecting antiques.  For sentimental reasons she wants to redo the old piano she and her brother and sister used growing up.  You can understand her feelings.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she groaned.  “I do understand that they all learned to play on it, but we did, too.  I love that old piano more than anyone can imagine.  What am I going to do?”

“It’s your decision,” he said.

The piano represented so many joys and accomplishments, years of fun and work to all the Vinyards, how could she give it back?  Besides, it was a beautiful piece of oak furniture that she had dreamed of refinishing herself for her own home one day.  For a person who possessed little of significance, owning that old piano filled with memories really mattered to her.

“It was a gift, after all, and no one is required to return a gift, is she?” Irene argued with herself for days.

Then on the Sunday morning before Christmas as she played carols on the church piano, she smiled, remembering how difficult those songs had been to play that first day at the Osborn home.  “What would Jesus do in this situation?” she asked herself.

When the congregation sang, “We Three Kings,” the words bearing gifts kept repeating in her mind.  Suddenly her hands faltered on the keyboard, because she realized that on her long ago Christmas Eve, Mr. Osborn had come bearing not the gift of a piano, but the gift of music.  He had given her the opportunity to learn to play ANY piano.

Tears of gratitude slid down Irene’s face as she realized she could give the gift of music, too, by returning the piano to his daughter.  The beloved old family treasure would evoke memories, memories of piano lessons and life lessons that now included the Vinyards as well as the Osborns.  The issue settled in her mind, Irene humbly sang with the other worshippers as she played, “Guide us to Thy Perfect Light.”

THE END

Our Love Was Meant To Be

By Terry Matz

It amazes me

That out of the whole world

I would find the one person

Who would make my life complete …

And that we were both

At the right place to meet,

And at the right time

In our lives to fall in love.

It makes me so thankful

For all that happened

To bring us together

And once again I realize

That our love

Was truly meant to be.

Longing

By Matthew Arnold

Come to me in my dreams, and then

By day I shall be well again!

For then the night will more than pay

The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,

A messenger from radiant climes,

And smile on thy new world, and be

as kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam’st in soother,

Come now, and let me dream it truth;

And part my hair, and kiss my brown,

And say:  “My love!  Why sufferest thou?”

Come to me in my dreams, and then

By day I shall be well again!

For then the night will more than pay

The hopeless longing of the day.

Garden of Prayer

By Elaine Arnold

I have found a peace in my garden

That rarely I’ve found anywhere;

In the growing things

There’s a silence that sings,

So that mine is a garden of prayer.

Just to feel life lifting in beauty,

Up through the dirt and the sod!

In the growing of green

From the dark unseen,

I am learning the nearness of God.

I am learning the power of a Presence

As I walk in my garden there;

And I find that His love

Bring me peace from above,

For mine is the garden of prayer.

Being Family

Sometimes being family means more than just smiles and good times.

It means caring for each other and building bridges of trust …

It means not being afraid to ask and answer difficult questions …

It means accepting one another for what we are …

It means pulling together when things get rough,

Knowing that love will be there no matter what.