You Get More Than You Give

My greatest fear is growing old alone.
As I approach middle age with no sign of a husband, and therefore no chance for children - realizing that fear is a bit too close for comfort.
I shared this concern with my parish priest a few years ago. He told me that I should spend time visiting people in nursing homes.

I know he was right. What better way to walk right up to that fear and see what it looks like. It's something I always intended to do. But how do you go about volunteering at a nursing home? In a big city like this, it's a project just to find one! At one point, I made a list of homes to contact - but didn't manage to follow through.

Then a few months ago, our new parish priest asked for volunteers to bring the Holy Eucharist to a nursing home with which he has coordinated. I thought I'd go to the meeting and determine the level of commitment.  When I got to the meeting, it was just me and one other person.

Here's your sign!
Guess who's volunteering.

Now for the past month, I've been going to the home, bringing the Eucharist to those who wish to receive, and enjoying chats with those who desire a visit.

I've met the most lovely people.

There is Betty, who is always so pleased to see me, and chat. She is always dressed with flair, hair done to perfection. She's quick with a smile and a laugh, happy to show me pictures of her departed husband - who looks to me like a real mogul! They had a good life together. I tell her they look like movie stars in their portrait. (and they do!)

Mary, who knows I'll indulge her lazy moods, and fetch her teeth and glasses so that we can have a nice talk, and laugh! She has a great sense of humor and takes my dry wit in stride. Ha. She matches me wit for wit! Together, we say ten Hail Marys and a Glory Be - and I know where two are gathered in His name, He is there.

There are others who don't remember me from visit to visit, due to dementia. But they are pleased to have a visitor who will go along with the story of the day. In that unit, you just go with the flow. Yes, I'm a flight attendant and I'll definitely enjoy my time in Denver, thank you. You're right, I should know that your son is a very important person in this company. I'll be sure he gets your message.

The very first time I brought the Eucharist to these sweet people, I was overcome with emotion. What a privilege. I know I'm bringing them something so very special - the greatest blessing on Earth.
But they are blessing me. With their smiles. With their presence. With the way they search my face looking for something familiar.

And each time they look for Christ in me... I hope they find some reflection of Him.

Yes, they bless me. So very much.

Beyond Ten Fold

It was almost a full year after my dad died, that I had my first dream about him.
I woke up happy, just to have the chance to visit with him.

Like most of my dreams, it didn't make much sense or seem very significant in the moment. It wasn't until I tried to describe it to someone else, that I understood the message.

My dad was a farmer for all of his 78 years. It was no surprise to see him in my dream, working on a tractor, fixing something. (As a farmer, my dad was a veterinarian, biologist, ecologist, mechanic, accountant and philosopher all rolled into one.) As he was working on the tractor he was excitedly telling me the good news about the price of corn. He was more excited than I had ever seen him in my life - a smile spread broadly across his face in the shadow of the bill of his feed cap.

No wonder. He told me that corn was selling for $100,000 per bushel! Wow!

In real life, any farmer would turn cartwheels in a stubble field at the sound of such figures! (for the uninitiated, corn typically sells from anywhere from 50 cents to $15 per bushel. Most typically around $3 - $5, if memory serves.) 

As I dreamt it, I was just thrilled to be talking to Dad, and seeing him so happy. When I woke up, it struck me.
He wasn't talking about the price of corn, he was telling me about the riches of heaven.  His message was that the riches of heaven were unbelievable. Beyond reason or comprehension.

He emphasized that anything we work for, or grow or nurture here on earth is worth 100,000 times more in heaven. Our work, our effort, our passion. God sees it all.

It's especially more poignant as I spoke with my mom back home.  It's early July and the corn in the fields in Nebraska are burning up. Instead of the most vibrant green you can imagine, the leaves are yellow and brown, dying before your very eyes.

Even that news didn't suppress my cheer. Imagine... if you could gather just 10 bushels - you'd still be sitting pretty! (not in our earthly reality of course, only in the heavenly sense.)

I could not ask for a better visit! I really believe he was sharing the joy of salvation with me.
More remarkably, my niece told me that she dreamt about him that very same night! So he came to visit us both. I need to ask her what message he gave her, and maybe post it here with her permission.

When I Visit My Dealer

I have a furniture stalker.
Sounds weird doesn't it?

When I first moved into my condo, I decided to hold off getting any new furniture until I lived there for a while and had a feeling for what would really work in the space. I'm glad I did because I didn't really know my style at that time. Thanks to the first year of living here I realized that Mid-Century Modern suited my aesthetic the best.

This means I love furniture that is used. It's considered antique, but a lot of it is surprisingly reasonably priced. I've scoured antique stores and Cr@ig$li$t.

From one such ad, I found myself at the home of very lovely woman with some beautiful furniture. I learned that she shops estate sales as a hobby, buys beautiful pieces then fixes them, polishes them up and sells them for fun.

My dresser - procured from my furniture stalker!

Not a matching set - but lovely nonetheless.

She finds pieces that match my taste exactly. All I just watch for her posts, and text her that I want to stop by! I just saw her this week, and because she has so many random customers... she had no idea who was turning up. When she opened her door, her face brightened and she exclaimed, "Hey, I know you!" and gave me a hug. I passed on the sofa this time... but we joked about how she knows she'll see me again.

"I'm your 'dealer'!", she joked.
"No, no... I tell everyone you're my furniture stalker! You stalk the furniture and I stalk you!"

If you think I'm sharing my source here, you're nuts!

Sweet Self-Acceptance

A friend asked me to take some head shot portraits for him. He needs some professional-looking images to use for all the social media necessary for his work. I was happy to do it, for he is a dear friend.

I asked only one thing in return, to turn the camera around and take a couple shots of me. I just wanted a nice new shot for F@cebook and other sites as well. I configured all the right settings on the camera and handed it over to him on autofocus.

Considering he's not a photographer... we got really lucky with one beautiful shot.

(Well, luck and my instant critiques that he should shoot me from above - always more flattering!)

I decided to make Christmas cards and everything!

As I was editing the photo and creating the card (design courtesy of my photographer friend Keli, Keli Anderson Photography) I had plenty of opportunity to stare myself in the face.

I considered photoshopping the lines around my eyes. I decided not only do the lines not look that bad, but in fact, I'm proud of those lines. They're smile lines mostly. A sign of joy. Happiness, smiles and joy etched on my face.

Yeah. No need to photoshop those. I've earned them. Then, even that thought surprised me a bit. Am I really okay with those lines? Proud of them? Sure.

But heck if I'm going to publish any unflattering shots here!
So there is a limit to my self-acceptance!

The bottom line is... proper posing and carefully chosen angles can disguise some signs of aging but not all. Accept what you can!

Perception is Everything

Sometimes perception is everything.

My cousin in another state, posted on F@cebook this afternoon that she was stuck in a store parking lot with a dead car battery. I was immediately sympathetic. Oh gosh, I imagined the cold, the wait for a tow truck or at least the effort of finding someone to let you attach cables to their car for a jump. But what if the battery won't take a charge? That's definitely a tow... the expense of that and a new battery plus installation. Yuck what a hassle.

Hours later, when I checked FB again she had triumphantly shared that her husband rode up like a white knight and saved her!

I have to admit, I was stunned! I hadn't even considered that possibility.

Thus is the life of a single woman. Particularly one who has been single for far too long.  I've dealt with my fair share of dead batteries, flat tires and dead starters - and it has always been inconvenient, expensive and relying on strangers. (At my dad's advice I keep jumper cables in my car because of his theory that if you have them, the chance of your needing them is dramatically reduced!)

The thought of simply calling someone who loves me and being done with the situation is completely foreign to me.

I'm not complaining.  This is the life I have, and I can handle it. I'm only pointing out just how different our lives can be.


Do you know someone who could use a go-to person for this type of situation? Would you volunteer your husband to help a single friend in such a case? Why not call that single friend and let them know? Honestly, it would mean the world to her!

Following Your Instincts

I moved to Denver rather reluctantly, but once I was here it was clear I was staying.
Starting with the beautiful, nearby mountains - the fact that snow falls in the mountains and stays there, making winter in the city rather dry and far less miserable than the snow-constantly-on-the-ground-from-november-to-march variety that Nebraska offers. Then there's the lack of humidity both summer and winter - making summers more bearable and winters less bitter. (score)  Likewise, due to the lack of humidity - mosquitos are rare here.  A HUGE plus because mosquitos love the taste of me, so it's advantageous that they're less likely to find me here.

One of my favorite activities here in Colorado is hiking. It's so beautiful here, and there are plenty of short hikes near the city that if I were ambitious enough, I could get a hike in after work during the week... but I don't. I save my hikes for the weekends... and for a while I wasn't going because I didn't always have a hiking partner and I didn't feel it was safe to go alone due to the nature of things that can go wrong... (Aron Ralston anyone?) and warnings of rattlesnake sightings posted on nearly every trail.  But in all my hikes, I never once saw a snake of any kind. I got to the point that I figured they must be pretty rare - if not for all the signs indicating otherwise.

Today, I accepted an invitation from a man I met at church. For our first date, he proposed a hike not far from one of my regular jaunts. This trail began an incline from the trailhead, so I was working pretty hard compared to the gradual incline on the trail to which I'm accustomed. It was also a bit more dense with dry brush - or perhaps the footpath just wasn't as wide, but as a result we had to walk one after the other instead of next to each other. I'm a rather fast walker, and when I hike with my girlfriends I tend to go first, or else I just end up overtaking them. So I just sort of followed my habit and ended up leading my date.

It was a narrow path so I was looking down most of the time to maintain my footing. We were on a ridge, and I couldn't really see where the path was leading. We passed a marker and my date told me that it indicated we were out of park bounds beyond that point.  It didn't quite register with me, considering that the path was equally worn going forward, so I kept going. Perhaps I should have asked a few questions about where we should go.

Not 20 feet later, I screamed. I heard him ask what was wrong, and somehow the words, "Snake! Rattlesnake!" made their way out of my mouth.

The snake had been sunning itself on the path, detected us coming and by the time I noticed it, it was mostly coiled under a rock (still on the path) it's tail pulling in behind and it's body rearranging so in that moment I saw it's head emerge to check me out. Gah!
With it's head aimed at me, all coiled up and rattling - he couldn't be more imposing! The ugliest sight I've ever encountered- and I'm not normally afraid of snakes!

It's amazing how quickly the survival mode/flight instinct prevails. Adrenaline must have kicked in - because in that split second I recalled that a rattler could strike, throwing itself the length of it's body to do so... and in that same split second, I evaluated that I was less than a Tammy-length away from the snake. (and he was most likely a Tammy-length long!)

We beat a retreat... but at the same time, a part of me (my inner journalist - it's an instinct too!) really wanted to take a picture of the rattlesnake. I may have seen the rattler first, but I knew that my date saw the snake instantly after I announced it. I think he said, "Let's get out of here." or something similar.
Fortunately, we were quickly a safe distant from the threat and I asked my companion if I had screamed. "Yes, you screamed.  But you were backing up at the same time."  I was glad to hear that, because I would hate to be the type that stupefies under pressure!

I was surprised that I screamed, because I've never really been scared of snakes... but by that I'm referring to Nebraska snakes; bull snakes, garter snakes... nothing venomous. They're not threats, they're just ugly. I think being that close to a rattlesnake, your body just knows that you're in danger!

Then my date told me that he had been ready to throw me on his back and run, (which is kind of hot!) and I knew that he would have - I could see it about him. We were still walking (back the trail head) at that point, and I asked if we could stop because I needed to freak out for bit! He acquiesced. I did a little eebie jeebie shake and made noises resembling "Gah!" "Blech" and "Ugh."

Although I screamed initially, I still think I was rather composed in the heat of the moment. I described myself as scared but rationally, I knew I was fine - but that I was threatened. What I identified as fear was most likely adrenaline kicking in. The human body is wonderfully designed! (Praise God!) 

We (my date and I) continued to talk about it.  I'm not sure if he was just placating me or if he was equally as disturbed about the encounter - though I believe that he was.  I kept trying to shake off the creepiness when I saw him extend his arms... then put them back down before asking, "Do you need a hug?"  "Yes, I think I do!"

I thought it was so sweet that he asked, even though he had already sensed that was what I needed and was instinctively ready to provide it.

It's pretty remarkable, how God builds those instincts into each and every one of us... whether it's to flee from danger or to comfort one another.

I'm not sure how riveting this story is to anyone out there... but it was an experience I wanted to document for myself... same as I want to document my memories of Dad. 
In fact, I was sharing the story with my nephew over the phone tonight, and realized how much I would have loved to tell Dad this rattlesnake story, and how Dad would have loved to hear it.  So startling, the little ways I miss him. 

Bending the Rules

I was blessed with a childhood on a working farm and ranch. Wide open spaces, places to explore... discover... traverse and understand.

We had fields of corn, alfalfa, and soybeans... pastures teaming with cattle and pens filled with pigs. There were usually two dogs in rotation and loads of cats.  Most people refer to them as feral cats but I had a knack for taming them. A litter of kittens would be born in some remote location... out-building, barn, an old tractor tire... and by the time the mama cat would wean them and teach them to mouse they'd be a bit wild before they ventured around the humans, then hissing and dashing off.  I usually had them begging for a good scratching before long, and by that point the cats would all be hanging around the back steps of our house or sunning themselves on our huge lawn.

That drove my dad nuts, cats underfoot whenever he left the house! Better that though, than to violate his rule.  (He didn't have or enforce many rules but this one was firm...) No Animals in the House. 

With acres of land and plenty of barns and sheds, Dad said there was no reason to have animals in the house.  The house was for humans. Barns were for animals.  He assured us, even if it was cold that the dogs and cats had sense to lay with the cattle in the barn.  It's the natural way.

Of course, every kid wants to test the rules... and whenever I tried to smuggle a kitty inside for extra cuddling it only lasted until I heard his booming voice, "Get that cat out of the house! They don't belong inside!"

Now, I had the sort of childhood that instilled respect for my parents.  They never spanked and rarely punished us... but we also knew better than to test them.  While I was never spanked (except once when he was 'pretending/threatening' to spank me - which was more horseplay than anything else) ... still, I was certain that form of punishment wasn't off the table if I did something to warrant it!

Back to the respect... by the time I heard his booming command, I had taken enough satisfaction in the sneak that I had the cat back outside within two minutes.  Usually because the cat wasn't nearly as cooperative as I had hoped at the start of the endeavor!

Dad relented enough in cold weather to grudgingly tolerate cats in the attached garage when it was freezing... but then I earned the task of making sure any messes were swiftly cleaned up. Tight ship and all.

Even so, on bitter-cold nights, Dad would come in from chores - his coveralls filthy with mud and manure and wet from snow.  His first stop was the garage, warm enough to thaw out and slip out of his outerwear without bringing the stink and mess in the house.

As a little girl, I could hear the outside door slam and knew Dad was 'almost home'.  Usually, I would crack the door and have a little chat.  As I got older, I would work on homework at the kitchen table and I could overhear him cussing at the cats for making a mess, and listen to him hiss for them to get out!

With all those firm rules in place, I knew my dad was no-nonsense. This was his house, his rules - and the cats didn't rank high enough to pester him at the end of his work day. Some days I pitied the poor cats for their instincts to keep warm - ignorant that they would face his wrath!

Until one day, in my teenage years when I heard Dad come into the garage and other sounds indicating  that he was sitting on the steps to pull off his filthy boots.  I heard his voice lower than usual and went to the door to listen... imagine my shock to hear his sweet voice saying, "Ah yes, you're a nice kitty aren't you? Yes. Are you staying warm?"

SHOCKED! After all those years my impression of Dad did an about-face in a split second!

I'm not saying he was this stern, always-tough guy. He was just a dad who knew it was important to command and earn respect from his children.  He made sure his kids knew what he expected, but also that rules could bend.