Post-Scripts....

It would seem that the person who was dying was going through the most change. Afterall, moving from life to death (and in Grandma's case, back to life again) seems to be quite a complex event. Question: If the survival instinct is indeed true, does a body have to work harder to die or to live when ravenged by illness?

Anyhoo...Grandma died. And it was as peaceful as it could be.

However, I am amazed at the flurry of activity that has taken place since Hospice called this morning. My mother hasn't stopped moving. Me...I went back to sleep and tried to sort out what it meant for my favorite grandma to be gone.

I had to wake up however, because the phone won't stop ringing. Last night, people streamed in and out of hospice and it was peaceful and quiet. Hushed tones mingled with outbursts of laughter - lots of laughter because Grandma = a good story.

I'm writing now because my mother doesn't need me to do anything. She only needs me to just be there.

Of course, Mom is talking to another cousin about my other grandma, who was checked into the hospital yesterday. She's 86. There's nothing wrong with her, but she doesn't like to be alone, so she goes to the hospital for a few days a month so that she can have some company (she's run off her family, so she doesn't get many visitors at home). We now call her "Last Grandma Standing..."

It's funny how life goes on even when life stops.

Staying close by where Grandma can see me...

My grandma is nearing the end of her life. Funny, because she doesn't seem to mind - but I sure do. Of course, Grandma knows that we are broken-hearted, but she's got Jesus to look forward to and we're no competition for Jesus. And we don't want to be.

No one told me that losing a grandma would be this hard. I don't care that she's 76 and she's lived a long life...a good life - it's still hard. I exhausted myself with trying to reason this whole thing out. I was working through the "old people are supposed to die" model. It's a crappy model, through, because each of those old people dying have grandchildren and children standing by their bedside (at least the lucky ones do). Age has nothing to do with heartbreak.

Grandma and I talked at least twice a week every week for the past five or six years. We would talk for an hour or so on my days off. It wouldn't be Wednesday or Friday if Grandma didn't call. Our chats criss-crossed current events, politics ("I don't know Barb - do you think folks will vote for a black man?"), faith - lots of talk about her faith.

Last April, I picked up Grandma from Medina (about two hours away) and she road-tripped with my girls and I to visit my sister in Washington DC. In August, my mom, aunts, myself, my girls and Grandma went on a chick-trip to Pennsylvania where we made memories for a lifetime as we got lost on a mountain and made GPS-Jane an honorary member of our family. Grandma would come for basketball games and to see me speak at church. My aunts could never come visit without her because she was always planning the next trip to see her "great-grandbabies."

Is it me or does everyone think their grandma is more special than everyone elses? Mine is pretty special. She spent a lifetime telling me how much I meant to her. I'm 36, yet, in my mind's eye I am 10 years old eating watermelon in her kitchen. She's doing the dishes and watching her soap operas. Before I go outside, tells me to stay close by where she can see me.

And that's what I will remember for now. On Friday, we are going to go visit Grandma - probably for the last time. I think I'll spend the day staying close by...where she can see me.

Darkness...

Sometimes, there are no words for what happens in life. In those days, the only appropriate words are "I'm sorry" and "what can I do." Even then, they're still not enough.

What's old is new again...

So, about last week's election...hmmm, no fun talking about that.

My girls had to clean out the attic last week and this week, I rummaged through the attic looking for clothes to recycle down from one child to another. My oldest child never participates in the annual ritual because she is at the top of the pile - a position she relished until she realized she had to purchase her own clothes.

I remember having to try on hand-me downs - my mother accepted clothes from everyone! For every one piece of clothing that showed marginal promise, there were 200 pieces that shouldn't have been privileged to see the light of day. There was nothing like being forced to keep clothes just because they were long enough in the legs or loose enough across the shoulders. Forget the fact that those clothes looked like styles from the 70's, Bellbottoms! I can't go to school in polyester! Embroidery? You want me to step out of the house in embroidered jeans?

My kids' closets look like the clothes I rejected 20 years ago. It's more than ironic, it's hysterical because I buy the clothes - except for the oldest girl's - she's on her own...but not at Christmas, I'll buy her clothes at Christmas.

The scripture (yes, this saying is from the Bible)"Nothing is new under the sun" can apply to so many things in life. The record losses in jobs and the steep dive of the stock market - rampant social upheaval and the rage against the institution. Like bellbottoms, it's happened before, it's happening now and chances are, it will happen again...

Things they are a changin'

I think I am going to refrain from watching the news this week - just for kicks. It seems that my mood is susceptible to the fluctuations of the stock market. If the market is up at 12noon, then I smile, if the market dives 350 points just before the closing bell, I feel a little worry in my heart. Seriously, what the heck?

Since when did the stock market gain such power in our lives? It just doesn't make any sense! Not only is it just one indicator among hundreds of indicators, but there's nothing I can do about it and so, why should I allow it to have any more influence on my life than it already does. Now, news stations have stock market boxes in the corner so our moods can go up and down with the unpredictable swings.

It's time to use my time in front of the talk-tube in a more useful manner or for that manner, turn it off. What am I really missing? If the world is going to implode, chances are, I'll find out without watch ABC, NBC, CBS, Fox News, CNN, etc telling me about the 1000 ways our world is coming to an end. I already know that story and its drastically different than what they're telling everyone else.

So, tomorrow through Friday, no more tv news. Not sure what that means for me at the gym, I guess I'll be watching more HGTV. Instead of watching the news, I think I'm going to spend that time praying to the One who actually knows and can do something about what's going on. What a novel thought...

I'm out.

The Art of Being Funny...

Tonight, I got to do stand-up comedy. It was my second shot at this dangerous little art form this year. I did it once in February and since no one threw anything at the stage, it was an easy "yes" when the invitation for tonight's gathering came in a few months ago.

For the past month, I've been trying out new bits...bits is the fancy comedy term for the little stories comedians (or in my case, comediennes) tell.

Being funny isn't easy. Matter of fact, no one really wants to brag about the fact that they are funny. "Yeah, I know how to crack 'em up..." It seems that one of the most important qualifications of being a comedienne is the fact that you aren't sure if you are funny or not. It's something you aren't sure of until the audience actually laughs...

It seems that comedy is the most honest form of communication out there. You can tell when someone is laughing and when someone is just humoring you by doing that fake "I'm going laugh so you don't feel like a loser" laugh. In comedy, there's no wondering if you are funny, the audience is always honest. If they don't laugh, you know what's up.

So, as I have been working on my bits, there's that nagging chatter in the back of my brain about what it will take to make them laugh. I realized early on that people won't laugh if I talk about what I think is funny, but they will laugh if I talk about things they are afraid of or won't talk about themselves.

For instance, why will a woman buy a shirt on clearance for $3.99 even though it is two sizes too small? It's like we can't pass up a bargain, even though it isn't right for us - we buy it anyways. Or, why do we bring the wrong size clothes in to the dressing room. For some reason, we can't bring ourselves to select the size we know we wear, we tend to sandwich ourselves into the size that we wore five years ago when we were 20 lbs thinner.

Women don't like talking about that stuff, but they will listen and laugh to someone else talking about it.

I like doing comedy. It's a challenge and I feel kinda like I'm skydiving when I do stand-up. I'm not sure how I'm going to land - I might even splat, but I do enjoy the journey in between.

I'm done.

The Mystery Chronicles

Thanks to the inspiration from the Bullock household, I decide to try my hand at writing a childrens' book...here's what I wrote tonight. Not proofed, only brainstormed, but tell me what you think.

The Mystery Chronicles

Prologue…
It was too early for Mystery to go out for her morning walk. But Sara Beth snapped on her collar anyways. As they walked toward the backdoor, Mystery was alarmed to see Allison crying at the kitchen table.
Mystery knew that some thing was wrong.
During their morning walk, Sara Beth would always tell Mystery about her plans for the day. Mystery never said anything while Sara Beth was talking, but always wondered what a “cell phone” was because it seemed to be all that Allison would ever talk about.
But, today was different. Sara Beth was silent. As they walked through their neighborhood, Mystery would turn around every few steps and she would see Sara Beth wiping her sleeve across her red-rimmed eyes. Seeing one of her people so sad was more than Mystery could bear. The large German Shepard abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Wishing she had words that Sara Beth could hear, Mystery communicated in the only way she could with her human: “Woof…”
She had hoped that her soft bark would comfort Sara Beth and let her know that she knew something was wrong, but Sara Beth wasn’t paying attention.
“Com’on Mystery,” snapped Sara Beth. “Mom says we have to hurry up. Com’on, let’s go.”
Sara Beth pulled on Mystery’s lease, but the 90-pound dog was too big for the 12-year old girl to move. “Come...on…Mystery,” plead the crying girl. But, a moment later, Sara Beth dropped Mystery’s lease and sat down on the curb to put her head in her hands. Her shoulders began shaking. A muffled sob escaped from under her hands.
Mystery realized that Sara Beth was sobbing once again. The large dog walked over to the young girl and licked her hand. “Woof…”
Sara Beth lifted her head and looked into her dog’s eyes. “It’s not fair, Mystery. Mom and Dad are wrong.”
Mystery lifted her ears. While she didn’t understand everything her humans said, she did know that Mom and Dad were in charge of the house. Especially, Mom, because she was the one who made sure that the Sara Beth and Allison fed Mystery each day. Mystery liked Dad, too, because he always fed Mystery the treats she was only supposed to have once a week. The man in the white coat Mom called Dr. Patterson said that Mystery should only have treats once a week, but Dad fed them to her anyways.
“Mystery, I am going to miss you,” cried Sara Beth. She put her arms around the dog’s neck and buried her face into Mystery’s fur and wailed.
“Woof,” replied Mystery. Where am I going?
Luckily, Sara Beth explained. “We can’t take you with us, Mystery. Mom and Dad said that since we have to move into an apartment, we can’t take you with us. It’s not fair that Dad lost his job and we have to move out of our house. It’s just not fair!”
Suddenly, Sara Beth jumped to her feet and began kicking the grass. Mystery’s ears popped up and she backed away from the angry girl. “What are you doing, Sara Beth?”
“It’s not fair,” yelled Sara Beth into the air. “I don’t want to move…I don’t want to leave my friends…I…want…to…keep…my…dog!”
Mystery was scared. She had seen Sara Beth yell at her younger sister, but she had never seen Sara Beth so mad.
Then, it was over. Sara Beth abruptly stopped yelling and dropped her head down to her chest. Mystery cocked her head and watched Sara Beth breathe in and out. A minute later, Sara Beth picked up Mystery’s lease and tugged the dog forward. “We gotta get back, Mystery,” she whispered.
Allison was still sitting at the table crying when Mystery trotted through the back door toward her food dish. Mom was talking on the phone and taking putting things into big boxes. While Mystery ate her breakfast, she listened as her humans talked. The, something Mom said caught Mystery’s attention: “…yes, she just came back in. We’ll be there in about an hour.”
Mystery decided not to finish her breakfast. She went over to Allison and put her head into the little girl’s lap. For some reason Mystery wasn’t hungry anymore.


Chapter One
Mystery Ride

Mystery hated crates. Furtheremore, she was deeply offended that these humans forced her to ride in one. As far as Mystery was concerned, crates were only for dogs who had accidents and it had been years since Mystery had an accident. Not only was she no longer with her humans, but these people penned her into a wire prison. Mystery decided that she would let them know how she felt.
“Woof! Woof! Woof-woof-woof-woof!” barked Mystery, as loud as she could.
“Hush up, back there,” yelled the man in the front of the big car. He was talking to another human that looked like Mom, but Mystery had no idea who these people were.
“Woof-woof-woof…arrrrrr…woof-woof-woof!” continued Mystery. She wanted out of that crate.
“It’s okay,” answered the woman sitting next to the man.
Mystery stopped barking. Something about the woman’s voice comforted the scared Mystery.
The woman continued: “I know you are confused, but you are going to be just fine. You’ll like the Hancocks. They are really nice people.”
Mystery sat and listened to the woman talk. Mystery didn’t understand what was going on or where Sara Beth and Allison were, but the woman seemed like was trying to be nice to Mystery.
A short time later, the big car stopped. While Mystery calmed down after listening to the woman talk, she got nervous when she saw the man and woman get out of the car and walk to the front door of a large house.
Minutes later, Mystery saw the man and woman return to the car. But, they were joined by another man and woman. Then the door opened, Mystery backed up into the corner of her cage and began barking. “Woof! Who are you! Woof! Where are my people? Woof-woof!! Get back, I’ll bite you! “…Arrrrr –Woof!
The humans didn’t seem to be scared by Mystery’s vicious laughs. The one man grabbed Mystery’s collar from outside of the crate and snapped on a leash. Then, the nice woman opened her crate and tried to coax Mystery out of the car.
Now, Mystery was terrified.
It was time for her to figure out how to escape. She didn’t remember being scared when she got into the crate, but that is because Sara Beth and Allison were there and they told her to get in. Now, her humans were no where around and Mystery was all alone.
She pulled against the leash and tried to escape. Whenever Mystery pulled the leash with Sara Beth or Allison, she could go anywhere she wanted to go. This time, however, Mystery couldn’t pull away. The man was too strong and pulled Mystery toward the house.
Where am I going? wondered Mystery. She was very afraid. Many times Mystery tried to sit down, but the man kept forcing her toward the front door. “Arrrrrrr….woof!” cried Mystery. Where’s Sara Beth and Allison? Could they be inside of the house? Maybe they are going to meet me here?
Those good thoughts faded as Mystery neared the entryway. The front door was open, but she couldn’t see inside. Mystery began to panic. What’s in there? Mystery’s mind was racing and most of all she wanted to know if she would she ever come outside again?
Mystery kept pulling against the leash until she heard the second woman’s voice. It was calm and nice, like the woman in the car. “Hi Mystery. It’s okay.”
The only reason Mystery stopped moving around was to listen to the sound of the woman’s voice. She sounded soothing, kind of like Mom’s voice. Maybe, thought Mystery, I’ll find out if they know Sara Beth and Allison before try to run away.
“Mystery, come here,” coaxed the woman. Her arms were out toward Mystery.
The confused dog sat down and looked around the new space. Mystery was sitting in a small room and she couldn’t really see anything else. There was a room to one side, but the two men were blocking her view. She thought that she could see something interesting, but she wasn’t quite sure.
“Mystery,” repeated the woman softly. “Come here to me.”
In slow, meek steps, Mystery walked toward the nice woman. As she approached the Mom-like woman, Mystery was happy to see that a treat, like those Dad gives her, was waiting in the woman’s hand. But, just was Mystery was going to eat the treat, she heard a noise: “Stop barking!”
Forgetting about the treat, Mystery strained her neck to look for the source of the noise. She scanned the faces of the humans, who were talking to each other. Except for the nice woman, who was still crouched down waiting for Mystery to take the treat.
The woman smiled. “Do you hear Rio talking to you?’
The other humans laughed. Mystery was confused. She looked around the room and tried to figure out who Rio was. Then, she heard Rio again: “Stop barking!”
That was it! Mystery wanted to know who was yelling at her. She forgot about the treat and began stretching toward the room next to where they were gathered. “Whoa, Mystery!” cautioned the man holding her leash. “You’ll have plenty of time to meet Rio and all of the other folks in the house.”
Who else is here? wondered Mystery.
The humans went back to talking to each other and Mystery sat back down and looked around. There were some stairs next to her that lead upstairs. For a moment, Mystery got excited. She liked stairs because where Sara Beth and Allison lived, stairs led up to rooms with beds. Mystery liked beds because they were big and soft and Mom let Mystery sleep on the beds while the girls were away each day. Mystery wasn’t exactly sure where the girls went, but she watch them get into a big yellow car each morning and in the afternoon, the girls would come home and complain about some place they called “school.”
Before Mystery could get sad about not seeing Sara Beth and Allison, the man and the woman from the car opened the front door. She tried to lunge for the front door, not realizing the other man was holding her leash. “Hold on, there Mystery,” said the man. “You are staying here with us.”
Instantly, Mystery turned and looked at the man. She was staying there. Suddenly, it all began to make sense. That’s why Sara Beth and Allison were crying when they put her into the car. After five years with her humans, Mystery realized she was never going to see them again.
“What’s wrong Mystery?” asked the woman. She bent down to stroke the peppery-gray dog lying in the Hancock’s foyer.
The man bent down and began stroking Mystery’s coat, as well. “It’s okay, Mystery. I think you are going to like it here.”


Chapter Two
Too many to count

Trigger was the first one to see the dog coming up the walk. He jumped down from the window and headed toward the dining room.
An anxious bird paced back and forth in its cage. “Trigger, Trigger, what did you see?” asked Tequila. Her blue and green feathers fluttered with each word. Her voice was high and screechy. She was nervous about what was about to happen. “Is it here? I know it is…see, I told you they were going to bring in someone new…”
The sleek, Bobtail cat strutted slowly toward the cage. While Trigger was very interested in watching the new dog come into the house, he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to torture the endless noisy cockatiel bird by stringing out the details of an arrival the dining room-bound bird couldn’t see.
Trigger walked toward Tequila’s cage and sat down. He swished his tail back and forth across the carpet a few times. After a few moments, the bird fluttered down to her bottom perch and began pacing in front of the cat. It never seemed to occur to Tequila that Trigger was stalling to make her crazy. In fact, Tequila never seemed to think about anyone other than herself. It wasn’t her fault, she was alone in the dining room by herself much of the time.
“Tell me!” screamed Tequila.
Trigger was used to Tequila’s hysterics. In fact, watching Tequila freak out is what made Trigger’s nonchalance so much more satisfying. He stretched out his long tan colored body and began grooming his paws.
“Tell me!” screamed Tequila again.
“Tell her!” squawked Rio from the living room.
“Yes, tell me,” yelled the dining room bird. She was shaking with fear.
Once Trigger saw a few feathers drift toward the floor, he decided to end his little game. The tricky little cat stood up and walked to the edge of Tequila’s cage.
“Would you like to know what’s going on?” asked Trigger.
“Tell me, Trigger!” pleaded Tequila.
“Well, it’s like this…” began Trigger. The cat began to tell the dining room bird about the scandalous arrival of a new dog.
“You should see how big it is,” dramatized Trigger. “It’s huge!” The mischievous little cat sat on its hind paws and spread apart his front paws. “Huge!”
“Oh, no,” cried Tequila. “No one here is that big.”
Sensing that Tequila was nearing a full fit, Trigger rubbed his paws together and launched into the next level of the story. “Yes, he’s big, but you should have seen his teeth.”
“Oh, no!” moaned Tequila, her body shaking more than before. She overturned her water dish as she used her beak to scamper back toward higher ground. Dozens of green and blue feathers fluttered toward the floor. “Oh, no!” she cried over and over again. Then, the little bird began fluttering around her cage. “It’s going to eat me! I know it!”
“Only if it likes the taste of crazy birdie,” replied Trigger. The fun of upsetting Tequila was over now that she was flying around her cage making too much noise. Trigger swished his way back toward the living room, passing an annoyed Rio on the way.
The 30-year old Macaw bird flew down to the floor in front of the sly and tricky cat. While the neighborhood birds feared the Hancock’s notorious kitty, Trigger was more crafty than crazy. He knew better than to mess with the wise Macaw.
“Trigger!” barked Rio. The middle-aged bird rose to his full eight inch height and stared into the eyes of the once- triumphant cat.
“Oh, Rio,” sighed Trigger heavily. He licked his paws and tried to seem nonplussed. “Oh, what now?”
Rio raised his wing and pointed it toward the haughty little cat. The Macaw leaned forward until his wing touched the cat’s nose. “You know exactly what’s wrong, Trigger.”
“You tell, Rio!” cried the chorus of parakeets in the corner cage in the living room. They usually didn’t say much, but they were universally afraid of Trigger, who as a kitten spent many hours trying to eat them when their humans weren’t around. So, the parakeet triplets appreciated it when Rio put Trigger in his place.
“Hush, girls,” shushed Rio. She turned her attention toward Trigger once more. “You know that Tequila can’t see what’s going on, so why do you torture her?”
Trigger looked around the room, pretending not to see the Macaw’s wing in his face. “Oh, you know – well, it’s just fun,” replied Trigger.
Rio poked Trigger’s nose with his wing. “Fun, you saw,” began the Macaw. “Would it be fun if I pecked your nose?” Rio snapped his beak a few times.
Instantly alarmed, Trigger scooted past Rio and jumped into the window sill. The parakeets cheered while the scampering cat ran away.
But, the cheering stopped when the front door opened and the living room pets heard a familiar sound: “Woof!”