Project 52 ~ Week 26 {Hidden Objects}

I've been sitting with this image for about five days now trying to come up with something magical to say about it. I always like to talk about the pictures when I post them. Tell the story of how it came to be. Muse about the different ideas that its theme has brought to mind. Craft a tale full of wit and poetry.

And as I look at this image now, the red hen hiding behind the opening of her little red house, I am struck with

 .....absolutely nothing.

Zip.

Zero.

Zilch.

Nada.

A big friggin' doughnut hole.

In fact, I can think of more ways to say "nothing" than I can things to say about this picture. It just doesn't inspire me. I have a theory on why.

Why, of course I'll tell you. Thank you for asking.

The reason for the lull in my creative flow, I believe, is due to this utterly ridiculous theme. And possibly the fact that the project sponsor's nine-year-old daughter picked it.

Really?

Seriously?

Are you kidding me?

You're joking right?

Is this for real?

See. I can come up with more ways to roll my eyes than I can things to say about this picture.

I can tell you three things about this picture:

1. It was taken during my Date Night with the Prince.
2. I had to wait a really looooonnnnnnnggggggg time for her to turn around poke her head out.
3. Sorry. Thought I could come up with three. I've only got two.

I briefly thought about taking this Hidden Objects theme to another level and really pouring out all of the feelings that I have about hiding my true self. That I feel so often lately that I'm wearing a mask and not allowing the real me to show through. Why do we feel the need to wear masks? What are we hiding from? Is it fear or low self-esteem or are we just obsessed with Halloween?

But....I don't know. That just seemed a little....what? Cliche and deep and self-indulgent? Yeah, pretty much.  I'm just not in the mood to go there.  I've got laundry to fold and errands to run and kids to clean up after and a bunch of other crap I've got to do.  I don't have time to think about the business of hiding any more.  You, however, are more than welcome to roll it around if you'd like.  Think about your own mask and why you wear it and what you're hiding from and what you're thinking about dressing up as for Halloween.

And if you can come up with something full of magic, wit and poetry to say about this chick, please don't hesitate to share.  My screen is always open.

So...I guess that's it.

That's all I've got.

I'm tapped out.

This is me....signing off.

Over and out.

That's all she wrote.

The End.

The Most Impressive Things

I know a group of kids.  And when I say know, I mean I photograph them every now and then.  And when I say kids, I mean a group of high school football players.  So, I guess...let me rephrase that.

I photograph a group of high school football players.  I know some of their names.  Not nearly all.  And I don't really know their faces unless they're looking at me through a face mask.

But I know their eyes.  And I know their their spirit.  Their will and their determination.  Their drive and their willingness to give.  The respect that they have for the game, their coaches, their teammates and themselves.

I know that they want to win and be the best and work the hardest and come out on top every time.  I know their disappointment when it doesn't happen, but I also know their courage to stand up and try again without wallowing around in self-pity. 

I watched these kids yesterday as they welcomed in a new group of recruits.  These new kids are younger.  Some of them aren't really even in high school yet.  They're smaller.  They don't know their way around and aren't really sure which way to go and how to get it done.  Without help, they could get hurt.

As I wandered the room, taking their pictures, watching them work, listening to them talk, I was aware once more why I love these guys so much.  There was no Us and Them.  No Older and Younger.  No Experienced and New.  It was just We. 

Those that knew what to do offered help to those that didn't.  Those who could showed those who couldn't.  The ones who had been there before helped guide the first steps of those just beginning their journey.

Impressed is not a big enough word for how I felt as I watched them all work.  I was struck, not by the power in their muscles, but by the strength of their character.  Truly remarkable people doing amazing things together. 

If you asked them, they'd probably just tell you they were weight training.  Trying to show the new kids how it's done.  But it was much more than that.  It was the very first spark of team spirit being fired off.  

And I was grateful to have witnessed. it.  

Date Night With The Prince

It started off like an other non-beachy Sunday.  I was up early before anyone else.  Coffee.  Paper.  Laundry.  Ahhhh.....the quiet of morning work makes me just want to sing....and dance...really quietly though.  I don't want to wake anyone and ruin the quietness. 

Pretty soon, they all start crawling out of the woodwork.

"Mom, can you make pancakes?"

"What?  Are you kidding?  It's my Sunday, too, you know."  Okay.  I didn't really say that.  I just ignored it and made them some eggs and toast and a fruit smoothie.

Then, the phone rang.  We were invited to spend the sunny Sunday afternoon around Grandma's pool.  Hours of lazing around the big backyard, soaking up the sun, while the kids worked out every ounce of energy in the pool until they couldn't stand up anymore and we would be forced to drag their exhausted, sleeping bodies home to bed.  Sweet!  We're in.

Futz around the house.  Walk on the treadmill.  Shower.  Suits.  Sunscreen..and we're off!

Now, here's where things started to kind of get funny.  The cousins were there (we knew they would be), and after about 5 minutes together, my niece asks if my daughter can spend the night with her.  Aside from the fact that the idea of being down by one for the night makes me want to twirl around doing cartwheels, I wasn't sure how she'd do.  She's never been the greatest sleepover-er.  Add to that the fact that we had only one change of clothes, no pajamas, no blanket and no pillow pet, and I was pretty darn skeptical.  But, she begged and pleaded, and once it was made clear that the sleepover would be at Grandma's house, it was pretty much a done deal.

Once that had been decided, my daughter told us, quite matter-of-factly, that it was now time for us to leave.  She was going to have a sleepover and it was going to start immediately.  Didn't make a whiff of difference that it was only 2:30 in the afternoon.  No fun could possibly begin while I was in residence, and she wasn't about to wait until my sun-worshipping was done.  She's always been impatient like that.

We lolled around a while longer.  Unbeknownst to me, whispers were being placed in my nephew's ear.  He's younger and maybe didn't really take the hint my son was slamming him over the head with, so as the cousin's are getting ready to leave, my son says, out loud and in front of everyone,  

"Hey, when I can spend the night at your house?"

Cut to me diving into the pool, burrowing through the concrete at the bottom, and building a home for the rest of my life.  How many times have we talked about inviting ourselves places?  Talked about what inviting ourselves means?  Warned that if I ever hear him inviting himself somewhere, my answer will always be no, no matter how fun it sounds?  That it's rude and improper and inappropriate and embarrassing.

Did I mention the burrowing into the concrete?

No worries.  My brother took it in stride.  He's cool like that.  They'd been wanting to do a sleepover anyway.  Quick call home to check with the mom, and just like that, we were kid-free for the whole night.  Now, I was ready to go.  Let the kid-free twirling and cartwheeling bliss begin.

Sooooooo.....now what?  Are we supposed to, like, do something?

We walked in the house, no.  Wait.  We got out of the car....completely unencumbered.  It took, like, I don't know.  Two seconds?  Wow.  Then we walked in the house....completely unencumbered.  That took about half a second.  No one pushed through.  No one yelled that you're in my way!  No one immediately started scouring the kitchen for snacks and drinks.  No one dumped all of their stuff right in the entryway for everyone else to have to trip over.  We just walked in the house.  Just....walked in.

Once we got there, we weren't really sure what to do.

"Do you want to go out for dinner?"

"I guess.  Where do you want to go?"

"Well...ummm.....How about McDon....No.  Wait.....Chuck E.....Hold on.  I know this.  I know this...."

"Why don't we just grill up the chicken that's marinating?"

"Sub sandwiches!  I knew I'd get it!"

"Start the grill, Big Man."

While he worked on the chicken, I stir-fried up some veggies, and we enjoyed some very lovely complete sentence conversation.  We sat down to a quiet dinner in front of Lester Holt, just like we used to do.  On the couch.  Afterward, as we were sinking into our kid-free bliss, he turned to me and said,

"Chicks?"

I apologize in advance for the use of this extremely over done phrasing.

Pardon my french, but are you fucking kidding me?  We're alone in the house for the first time in about 153 years, and you want to go visit the chicks?  Just gimme a minute to grab the slug bait and I can get some work done while we're out there, you romantic devil.  Visit the chicks.  Sheesh!  So I looked him right in the eye and said,

"Okay."  I decided not to grab the slug bait.  I didn't want to use up all the fun at once, you know.

So, we're out in the back yard.  Chicks, chicks, chicks.

Water the plants.  Pull some weeds.

Take some pics.

And we're back inside to the couch.

This wasn't taken on the couch, but it's a really good picture of him and I love looking at it, so I just want to put it here.  That's all.

If you didn't know, or weren't aware, Sunday night TV about sucks.  And without a Netflix envelope to open, we were stuck with a ball game....until I convinced him to watch the pilot episode of "The West Wing."  I've totally gotten back into the first season and was sure he'd love it.  Now, pilot episodes can be kind of tough.  New characters and personalities to figure out.  The plot lines are strange and confusing.  You really have no idea what's going on, so I'm not too sure how much he was liking it.  That's not true.  I know he hated it, but he didn't give up on it, and just as I was about the start the second episode the phone rang.

Being that it was 9:30 at night, I figured that it was Grandma calling to say that my daughter was freaking out and wanted to come home, but the caller ID said it was my brother's house.  Hmmmmmm......my son was probably just calling to say good night or something.

"Hi, Mom."

I never talk to him on the phone and it's always weird to hear how small and young he sounds.  His voice was so little and high-pitched.  He could have been four, not in fourth grade.

"I want to come home."

WHAT!?!  Pardon my french, but are you fucking kidding me!?!  You're the one who wanted to go there!  You're the one who invited yourself over!  You're the one who said, "When can I?  When can I?  When can I?"  And now you want to come home?  FORGET IT!  You made your sleepover....so....you know....sleep in it!  So, I looked him straight in the phone and said,

"If we come and get you, you won't be spending the night anywhere ever again for the rest of your life."

"Okay.  How long will it take you to get here?"

He said that he just really missed us.  He'd had a lot of fun, but that going to sleep at someone else's house was just too different and he missed hearing our sounds.  I get that, I guess.  So fine.  We went and got him.  He was grinning from ear to ear as he climbed into his own bed.  His light was on just so.  The radio was playing the station that he likes.  As I walked out of the room, I heard him say,

"I know you're mad, but I'm really glad to see you."

I turned to him.  "I'm not mad.  I'm disappointed, but I'm not mad."

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad!"

"Yeah.  You're mad."

I rolled my eyes and walked out of the room.  Truth be told, it was nice to have him in his bed.  It would have felt sad and lonely for neither of them to be home during the night.  And it would have felt really sad and lonely to wake up in the morning and have coffee and read the paper and get Prince Charming out the door and work pictures and do some writing all without the bouncing off the walls noise and questions that usually surround me in the morning.  Yeah....that would have been really sad and lonely.  Totally.....I know. 

And what do you suppose he said when he came out of his room in the morning?  Was it

A.)  I'm so glad to see you and be home.  You're the best parents in the whole world!

B.)  I'm so glad that I made that choice.  It feels so right to be here with you guys.  You're the best parents in the whole world!

C.)  I wish I was back over there!  They're having blueberry pancakes for breakfast!

If you chose A or B, I love you.  Would you like to come and live with us?

If you chose C, pardon my french, but....oh, forget it.  I just got out the stuff and made the friggin' pancakes.

Post Script:  The girls had a lovely time during their sleepover at Grandma's and are currently planning their next Princess Polish Party Extravaganza. 

Post-Post Script:  The Prince and I are now making up a list of possible  dinner locations and outings for when we find ourselves alone again in another 153 years.

When I Have Nothing To Say

I totally feel like I want to write something, but I really don't have anything to say.  Everything I've written down lately has felt so heavy, and full of intense emotion.  It's not that I want to be that way.  That's just where I've been.  But, I'm kind of feeling ready to lighten it up a bit.  So....

....what to write?  What to write?.....

I could talk about something with Prince Charming.  Except that he hasn't really been all about the blog recently.

I could talk about something with my kids.  But that gets kind of old sometimes, doesn't it?  Like one of those people who walks around always wanting to show you pictures of children you don't really know and could give a rip about, but you don't want to hurt their feelings so you pretend to be interested, and they take that as actual interest and keep pulling out pictures and telling stories about them until you're about ready to put an ice pick through your eye.

Yeah.  I don't want to be that parent.

I could show you the asparagus picture that I took at the Farmer's Market that I love, which is ironic because I can't stand asparagus.  It's like eating a tree, which reminds me of broccoli which is like eating a shrub.  So, I really have no idea why I took this picture, other than I thought it would look cool.  'Nough said.

I could tell you the funny thing that someone said about me yesterday.  I was described to a group of people as "She doesn't get the Sports Illustrated cover shot, but she captures the essence of the effort."   I've decided to take that as a compliment because I think that's how it was intended.  Funny, though.  Right?  I mean....because....my Sports Illustrated cover shot trophy is sitting right here.  All shiny and stuff.

I could talk about the supremely awesome thing I saw at Freshman Football....a girl!  And not only was she a girl, she was a red-head!  I'm a big fan of the red-haired girls (see above image of the little red-haired girl).  She was going step for step with the boys, and she caught her pass when several of the guys dropped theirs.  And at no point did I want to shout "PINK SPORTS ARE COOL!" because she looked pretty tough.  She could have totally taken me.

I could show you my favorite pics from this week.

Not that I really have anything to say about them.

I just really like them.

I could tell you about how I drove past my grandparents' old house the other day .  The house looked the same, different but the same, and it made me kind of sad thinking about all of the times I'd been there.  All of the greetings and good-byes we'd had on the driveway.  All the pool my brothers and I played in the basement.  All the rocks my grandfather had polished for us in the downstairs room.  All the pasta we ate at the dining room table.  And how the new owners have totally redone the inside so they can sell it, but I can still tell it's the old house, and it just reminded me of how far removed I am from those days, and how I hope that my children will never know that feeling.  But, that would be kind of heavy and full of intense emotion, and the whole point of this is to get away from that.
 
Hmmmm.....what to write?  What to write?

I don't know.  Maybe I'll come up with something later. 

The Ocean, And All That It Heals

We pile into the truck, each of us keenly aware of the similarity of the situation.  It was just a week ago that we were preparing for this same trip.  Our journey abruptly ended by crisis.  Now, here we are again, but this time, the trip will not be one of frolic and fun, but rather one of healing.

As we make the two and half hour drive we listen intently to the story being told to us on the CD playing in the dash.  We laugh occasionally.  We stop for food, but mostly, we are quiet.

When we arrive, we all pitch in to unload the truck.  I start putting away the kitchen things, while the children start setting up the video game system.  Bags are brought in.  A cooler full of food carried up on Daddy's muscles.  It's almost eerie how smoothly things are going.  No one is clambering for something to eat or drink.  No one is bouncing off the walls after having been cooped up in the car for almost three hours.  We just get along and get the work done.

The mornings are chilly.  The afternoons are glorious.  The sunsets are cloudy and colorful.  There is much debate over a creature found laying on the sand.  Is it an orca or a dolphin?  Cases are made for both.  We paw through a pile of driftwood shards for treasures.  Sand dollars.  Tiny crabs.  Unusual rocks and shells.    The wealth of the beach offers our minds a break from the heavy thoughts that have been living in there. 

We spend our hours wandering along the shore.  The sun is shining and it feels warm and wonderful on our faces and shoulders and backs.  The brilliant blue of the sky is perfectly reflected in the water.  We walk barefoot in the sand, one of the first times since last fall that we've been able to do that.  The waves roll in, sometimes hard and crashing, sometimes soft and soothing as it washes over our soles, each time carrying more of the broken pieces of our pain back out to sea and far away from our hearts.

There will be many more visits to the beach in the following months.  As we walk, and talk and feel the sand between our toes, the power of ocean will deliver its own kind of healing, until we are, one day, free.

Project 52 ~ Week 25 {Crave}

My own life journey took me away from this project last week.  And even it hadn't, I just don't know that I would have been able to muster any kind of enthusiasm for Make It Tasty.

Seriously?....

This week, however, I am back on track.  It's one of those weeks where I was immediately inspired.

Crave.

Aside from the obvious I crave chocolate, I crave coffee, schtick, I really wanted to delve deeper into this concept.  Explore the intense desire behind the meaning of the word.

I don't think I really need to explain anymore.

She pretty much covered it.

Don't you think?

Last Day

Technically, the last day of school isn't until next week, but ever the cool mom that I aspire to be, I've allowed my son to make this his last day.

The Cool Mom thing aside, there were a myriad of reasons for this.  I'll share.

1.  It's not his fault that it snowed.

2.  It's not his fault that they cancelled school when it snowed.

3.  It's not his fault that they now have to make up snow days from when they cancelled school.

4.  It's not his fault that we had already scheduled a Father's Day trip before it snowed because school was originally supposed to be out today.

5. It's not his fault that we'll be back in time for him to go to school on the actual last day, but that we all know that the actual last day is just a assembly and whatever.  And that my mother NEVER let me miss that, no matter how much I begged her.  The whole idea of which circles back around to my Cool Mom thing.

So, it's the last day of school, and for the next two and a half months, I won't have to...

Wake him up early.

Hound him about getting dressed, brushing his teeth, putting on his shoes and getting in the car.

Wonder how much he has left in his lunch account.

Be there to pick him up on time, lest he have to wait a moment.  "Moooom!  I've been waiting!"

Argue with him about what constitutes an appropriate reading book.

Argue with him about what constitutes an appropriate study environment.

Argue with him about what constitutes an appropriate writing utensil.

Argue with him about what constitutes an appropriate bed time.  Although that one will still probably come up every now and then.

It's summer.  Time to relax and eat ice cream and walk on the beach and keep the doors open until late at night and breathe in that fragrant, flowered air and play with the chicks (well...not me, but, you know...), and throw the ball and drink sangria and lemonade and iced tea and mojitos and take pictures in the light of that golden hour.

Right up until September 1st rolls around again and then I have to do it all over...twice.

Kindergarten and all that.

Have a great summer!

Hugs,

LL

What DO You Believe In Then?

I was asked a question recently that reminded me of a line from one of my very favorite movies.  I answered it fairly briefly and quickly within the context that it was asked.  It's still lingering though, rolling around in my head and picking up steam from all of the other random thoughts that I have floating around in there.

I decided that I could probably add more juice to my answer, but only if I can do it the same way that it was done in one of my very favorite movies.  (Bonus points if you know what that is.)

So, What DO I believe in then? (I have to ask it like that because that's the way it was asked of me....)

Well....

I believe in family.  Family always comes first.

I believe in the union of man and woman.

I believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

I believe that out of sight is out of mind.

I believe in using real cream in my coffee.  None of that fake, soy, lite, flavored crap.

I believe that chocolate can make you feel better, no matter what is going wrong.

I believe in the changing of the seasons.

I believe in a woman's right to choose.

I believe that a good skin care routine will make you look younger which will make you feel better.

I believe that grief and jealously are not rational emotions.

I believe that the only things that are about me are those that I do and say and feel of my own volition.

I believe in the power of prayer to bring comfort and peace during times of despair and devastation.

I believe in telling the truth, and being truthful with one's self...always.

I believe that a little, white lie is okay sometimes if it will spare someone some pain or stress that really isn't worth the pain and stress of it.

I believe in turkey on Thanksgiving, roast beef on Christmas and ham on Easter.

I believe in romance, and that keeping it alive takes effort.

I believe that the paintings of Thomas Kinkade are soft, sappy, commercialized drivel.

I believe in a higher power.

I believe that everything has a purpose.

I believe that children can be a gift and the most destructive creatures on the planet at the same exact time.

I believe in art.

I believe in the creative process.

I believe in the library.

I believe that Madonna is, was, and will always be the Queen.

I believe my partner is my best friend and that I should treat him that way.

I believe in routine and schedule.

I believe that anger comes from fear, frustration, betrayal, guilt, grief, and any other emotion you want to throw in there.  It does not stand on its own and the actions and words that are born from it cannot be taken personally.

I believe in always doing your best and trying your hardest.

I believe in running on the top half of your gas tank.

I believe in being entertaining and artistic whenever possible.  Life should be art.

I believe in always knowing exactly how much money you have in the bank.

I believe that you can attract more bees with honey than with vinegar.

I believe you get back what you give out.

I believe that a smokey eye and a nude lip are the perfect make-up for any occasion.

I believe that it is what it is.

I believe that good communication skills cannot be beat.

I believe in the power of the written word.

I believe in sitting down at the table together every night for dinner.

I believe in being together.

I believe in spending time alone.

I believe in love at first sight.  Trust me on this one.

I believe that a phone call received deserves a phone call returned.

I believe in allowing people to be who they want to be, and never asking them to be less.

I believe in jack-o-lanterns.  And candy canes.  And daisies.

I believe you should pay it forward.

 
I believe in good customer service.

I believe people do what works for them.

I believe that feelings from my gut will always lead me in the wrong direction, but feelings from my heart will always take me home.

I believe that God gives you exactly what you need exactly when you need it, and not a second sooner or later.  And not an ounce more or less.

I believe in unconditional love and acceptance.

I believe in the office of the President of the United States.

I believe that the forces that divide us are not nearly as strong as those that unite us.  I didn't write that, but I love that.

I believe we are stronger as as unit than we are as individuals.  I didn't write that either, but I love that, too.

I believe there's always room for one more.

I believe in an open door policy.

I believe that all women deserve to wear white.

I believe in an afterlife, but I don't know that I can wrap my arms around what that looks like.

I believe that I start with me, and that all I can do is my best.  That all I can live is a good life.  That all I can be is who I am, and that hopefully, in the end, I will be rewarded.

I believe that religious beliefs and political views should never, and I mean NEVER, be discussed, debated, mentioned, talked about, batted around or thought of among friends or family.

I believe that if someone is brave enough to ask the question, they deserve an answer.

~L.

Saying Good-bye The Only Way I Know How

We were at my daughter's baseball game when the call came in.  It was about 10:00 on a Saturday morning.  I was sitting against the fence with my son just past the third base line, trying to convince him that going to the beach after the game for the rest of the weekend was actually a good thing.

I heard my husband's cell phone start ringing in his pocket.  His father had been in the hospital, and whenever someone you care about is in the hospital and your phone rings, it's like an alarm to your heart.  The moment he answered it I could tell that something had happened.  The flash of fear across his face gave it away.  This conversation was the one he'd been dreading for the past week and a half.

The worst was beginning and my beloved was being called 1000 miles away to be with his mother and brother and sister in a time of family crisis.  I stood next to him, my hand on his arm, as he listened to the doctor on the other end of the line.  He moved away from me, and I understood the sign that he needed to be alone.  I turned back to the game and cheered for my daughter.  It was odd to be hooting and clapping while everything in our world was changing right behind me.

After he hung up the phone, he said, "We need to get her out of this game.  We need to get home."

I went and collected her things, apologized to her coach, and together, we all walked to the car.  My son was asking questions I wasn't sure how to answer. 

"Where are we going?  What's going on?  Why are we walking so fast?"

As we drove, everything was quiet.  Prince Charming's face was grim and severe.  His cheeks were red and his mouth was set.  I tried putting my hand on his shoulder again, but he didn't seem to care.  He didn't appear to need or want my comfort at this moment.

"When we get home, could you please start looking at airline flights on the internet?"

"For all of us?" I asked.

"Well...I....I need to talk to my mom.  See if she want us all there or if it's just me.  Just see what you can find."

"Of course.  We'll do whatever you want us to do, honey.  If you want us to go, we'll go.  If you want us to stay here, we will.  Whatever you want," I assured him.

Knowing him the way that I do, I knew that he would never be able to ask for what he needs, so I made it easy for him.

"Do you want us to go with you?"

He didn't speak, and as he quietly nodded his head, I put my hand back on his shoulder.

When we got home, I immediately went into action, searching every travel website I could find for the best deals.  There weren't any.  I got on the phone and started explaining the situation to every airline representative that would pick up the line.  I wasn't getting anywhere that wouldn't require a second mortgage on our home.  It quickly became apparent that we would not be making this journey together.

As he threw clothes in a suitcase, I booked tickets for he and his brother.  It would be just the two of them traveling for now.

"If anything happens, I'll call for you," he said.  

He dialed his brother's house to check his ETA.  It had been an hour and a half since he received the first call, and now, the voice on the other end was telling a story that everything had changed.  A doctor had arrived in his father's hospital room, adjusted a machine, and watched as the vital signs being displayed on the machines changed and improved.  The doctor told everyone waiting that it was a miracle.

"What?" asked Prince Charming.  "What changed in an hour and a half?"  

It was decided that he and his brother would still make the trip.

We stood in the kitchen, talking things over.  I've seen enough doctor shows to know that men of science do not easily accept the idea of a miracle unless there is absolutely no other possible explanation for the healing that has taken place, particularly not when they themselves have had a direct hand in that healing, which appeared to be the situation we were facing.

There was a knock on the door.  We opened it and his brother's family burst into our house as four bouncing balls of light and joy.

"Did you hear?" they asked.  "Did you hear about the miracle?"

They were all bright voices and exuberant hearts as they told us about the prayer they had spread on Facebook and through their church friends.

"...and then I did it and then she did it...."

"Yeah, and then everyone was praying together...."

"...and the second it all went out, we got the call about the miracle."

I believe in the power of prayer to bring comfort and strength and hope during times of devastation.  The higher power of God exists within the spaces of our lives, guiding us in the direction of inner peace and fulfillment.  The methods of God may not always be understood, but they are never without purpose.  We, as mortal man, are occasionally given a brief glimpse of insight into the wisdom of that force, but are more often than not, left to our own devices to piece together the puzzle of events that continue to move us through our lives.

I do not believe, in any way, shape or form, that belief in this power can be used to mask the reality of what is.  We cannot bury our heads in the sands of our faith and refuse to accept or acknowledge the absolute truth of our situations.

As I listened to these people in my kitchen, these people so full of prayer and hope, I knew that they were only meant to be heartbroken.  I knew that things would not work out in their favor.  The reality of the situation was that this was not going to get better.  I looked into the face of my beloved, and he met my gaze.  His eyes, full of sadness and despair, told me that he was about to face the most evil demon he'd ever met in his life, and he was about to face it among a group that was absolutely, in no way, prepared to meet it with him.  He would be alone.    

Five hours later, after pacing over every inch of space in my home, staring for unending moments at my blank reflection in the mirror, and putting my own message of strength and peaceful transition out into the universe, I could wait no more.  I called to find out if he'd arrived and how it was going.

"We just got here.  We're on our way to the hospital.  I'll call you later when I know more."

Again, I had to wait.  And wait.  And wait. 

As the day turned to night and the night became later and later, I gathered my sleeping children and we all piled under the covers of my bed.  As I was drifting off, I heard it ring.  It was bad.  As bad as he'd expected.  Everything that could be going wrong with his father's body was going wrong.  He was stable, and not yet considered terminal, but I was not hearing of much hope.

The next day, the dismal diagnosis continued to pour in.  Kidney failure.  Strep Pneumonia.  Internal bleeding.  End over end over end until all that was left was for me to ask,

"At some point is someone going to have to make a decision whether or not to move forward?"

"Yeah, someone's going to have to," he told me, "but, we're not there yet."

As long as the doctor, any doctor, offered even a glimmer of possibility, they were going to grab on to it and ride it as far as they could.  They would keep treating.  Keep medicating.  Keep believing in the miracle to carry them through as they faced the most wicked beast they would ever have to face.

How do you make that choice?  How do you come to the conclusion that it's better to say goodbye after a lifetime than to keep fighting on for more?  How do you allow yourself to let go so that the person you've loved for your whole life can be taken home to the comfort of God while you're left behind to sludge through the banality of your existence without a partner?  How can your faith in God remain when He's asking you to make that choice?  How can you love?  How can you accept?  How do you concede?

I don't have answers to these questions, nor do I, at this point in my life, have the strength that it took to make that decision, and I am so very grateful that none of them had to make it alone. 

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

There comes a moment when, no matter how hard you try to turn away from it, reality comes crashing down on your head.  When, no matter how hard you've prayed, you realize that God has other plans.  By 10:45 on Monday morning, two days after the first call at the baseball game, my husband and his family had finally all arrived at the same point of reality.  The heart-breaking decision was made not to continue with treatment.  They would remove all machines and support and put his father's life in the hands of God.

I moved through the rest of my day on auto-pilot.  Mechanically editing pictures, shooting football practice, making pasta for dinner.  It all felt so unimportant.  My partner, my love, my best friend in the world was going through the worst thing he'd ever gone through, and I wasn't there.  I was taking pictures of something I couldn't muster any feeling about.  I just didn't care about the play that was being run in front of me or the kid who just hit a home run.  None of it meant anything.

At 7:30 Monday night, the call that I had been waiting for finally came.  It was over.  My husband told me that his father put up the fight of his life.  He had always been a tough, old bugger; always in control, always wanting the last word.  He wasn't going to let God take him without giving Him what-for.  Not on his watch.

In the end, it had been peaceful.  They had all been in the room.  No one was alone.  The power of God offered them all a calming in their hearts and minds as they felt him release into the bliss of an existence free of pain and illness.  He was at peace and they knew they made the right choice.

I spoke with my children.  My daughter couldn't really grasp it, but my son, older now and much more aware than when my grandfather had died seven years ago, understood with perfect clarity the finality of what had happened.  He wanted to go.  He thought we needed to be there with Dad.

"There's nothing for us to do there," I told him.  "It's 105 degrees outside.  We can't play at the park, we can't swim in the pool, and everyone there will be sad and crying.  It's not a vacation, and there would really be nothing we could do."

"We could be there for Dad," he said, and my heart broke.

It was decided that we would not make the trip.  The reasons for that and the way in which I know it, circle back around to my belief that everything God does has purpose.  Arrangements are being made, and a service has been planned for later this summer.  We'll go then.

They had been married for 48 years.  Brought together at the wedding of her friend and his cousin.  It only took three months for them to know they should marry.  That could never happen today.  An 18 year old girl marrying a man she'd known for three months?  It wouldn't last five minutes.  But, their love lasted a lifetime.  Three children, two businesses, multiple homes and friends and vacations and good times and bad times and desperate times and grandchildren ~ 5 of Grandpa's Angels and 2 of Grandpa's Big Boys.  He often told me that he had gotten the best one.  That there wasn't a better woman in all the world than his wife.

The last meaningful conversation that I had with him occurred over breakfast at a restaurant as we were on our way to the airport after our yearly trip down for Thanksgiving.  There had been a few missteps during our visit, and some odd communications had left us feeling rather disconnected.  As we sat at the table that morning, he looked me in the eye and very sincerely thanked me for all of the work that I had done during my time there to make Thanksgiving special for everyone.  He told me that they loved me and that he thought of me as his own daughter.  He'd complimented me on other occasions before, but that morning was the first time that I felt completely and totally accepted by him.

I'll always remember his deep voice and the way he reminded me of Al Pacino's character in Scent of a Woman.  Brash and vulgar and outspoken, but full of love and compassion and joy with the life he lead at the side of his wife and family.  He didn't like having his picture taken.  He loved country music.  He said never put steak sauce on a steak that you've ordered in a restaurant or the chef will come out and have your hide for dessert.  A cigarette and a good martini were the perfect end to the day and he hated these last few years without the pleasure of them.  As far as he was concerned, the sun rose and set over Fox News and Nascar.  He intimidated me like crazy, but he taught me how to make great guacamole and Christmas fudge.  He was one of the most generous people I've ever known.  If he had it to give, it was yours.  If you screwed him, get the hell out.  If you loved him, be prepared to have it returned ten fold.

When he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night 

And pay no worship to the garish sun.

To Meg, Lynne, Lisa, Heather, Sandy, Shira, Susie, Denise, and Trisha~  Your kind words and messages of love and support have been an invaluable connection for me during my struggle with the powerlessness
of these past days.  Thank you for the gift of your continued friendship.

To KJ, Nick and Leslie~ I just love you all for your phone calls and emails and conversations with regard to my own well being.  You are more than my brothers and sister.  You are my heart and soul.

To my mother~  You always help me see clearly.  Without the reprieve of your comfort, I could not have made it through the fog within my own mind.  I am ready to leave this island.  Thank you for sending the boat.  I love you.

To my children~ Thank you for putting up with Mommy's crazy these past days.  I'm sorry I got the field wrong.  I'm sorry I made you eat snacks for dinner.  I'm so grateful for the warmth of your hearts and minds and bodies under the covers at night.  I love you both so much.

To Prince Charming, My Love, My One and Only~  I will always be right here waiting for you.  Next to you.  In front of you.  Behind you.  As close or as far away as you need.  I will never let you be alone. 

With all of my love,

Lisa