Chocolate Sorrow

Monday morning's aren't so bad.

Not after having a lovely four day weekend spending quality time with family.

Not after having a relaxing Sunday evening at home because no evening church services means no nursery obligations.

Not after having a chance to get an extra half hour of sleep because the girlies are out of school.

Yep, although the day began with gray clouds and the drive to work included equal parts of rainy mist and spitting snowflakes, I was having a good morning.

The hair ... the make up ... the wardrobe ... everything seemed to come together this morning.

I had time for my tea and for my breakfast before heading (not rushing) out the door. Traffic flowed well and the music playing was good.

I was ready to face the day.

I knew it would be busy. It always is when we have had the office closed for more than a weekend. I was ready.

I was ready for 96 questions about how was my weekend, my Thanksgiving, etc.

I was ready for 96 exclamations over the new onslaught of cold and was I responsible questions. (For those who may not remember, I am evidently responsible for the weather that afflicts our residents.)

I was ready to find out that our boiler system had been out for two days, with no hot water available to over half our residents and the subsequent calls asking if we knew and the stories of frigid showers and baths and "during the war we would go six weeks without bathing".

I was ready to deal with the fact that it is first of the month and therefore, of course the accounting system must take itself offline with an error posting.

I was ready for the need to multitask several situations at one time - between phone, window and simply regular office tasks.

I was, however, NOT ready to find out that a particular resident had passed away during the wee hours of Thanksgiving morning.

Now, I've been doing this job for ten years and it's not the first resident death I've experienced, nor will it be the last. When you work with seniors, death is simply a part of life. There is always a tinge of sadness and, normally, I take a moment, say a prayer and then move on.

While I am not close to all my residents, there are some few who have wound themselves a bit tighter in my heart than others. Some that, I confess, I enjoy seeing, greeting and sharing an occasional moment with more than others. All my residents receive my courtesy and respect for their person, but there are some residents who, by their very nature, win my trust and care.

Ms. M was one of these.

Already a resident when I began working, Ms. M made an impression on me from the very start. She was one of those ladies that rolled with the punches life dealt and relied on her faith to keep her going. A strong woman in a fragile body, she would ride her scooter down to the lobby each day to enjoy a view other than that out her patio, to enjoy the sun. During the winter she particularly enjoyed sitting by the the fireplace in the living room, a change of scenery for a few minutes or a couple of hours.

Fiercely independent, Ms. M took care of all her affairs on her own. She would travel the city either for doctor appointments or shopping or simply going to see a movie via the Lift Bus through the city bus transportation.

Intensely private, her life - her comings and goings - were her own. Often found in the midst of group conversations, Ms. M would be the one to listen quietly and comment infrequently, rarely sharing personal experience, feelings, or thoughts.

Strong in her convictions, Ms. M was never one to "let it slide". She expected to be treated fairly and she treated others the same way. She didn't ask for extra favors, simply expected what was due - whether work by a housekeeper, or public transportation, etc.

Ms. M was on of those people whom I would on occasion make the comment more than once that I wanted "to be just like when I grew up."

Through the years Ms. M and I forged a friendship. Brief moments shared between us - a smiled greeting as she would pass my window, a pat on her back as I moved through the hallways - she was respectful of my time ... knowing I was busy ... simply enjoying the times when I could sit in the lobby for a moment and chat, yet never asking me to do so. She wouldn't ask, but she always appreciated. Ms. M trusted that I would keep her privacy and I trusted she would keep mine. Over the years Ms. M and I shared a few stories, light or serious, enjoying a few occasional moments in each other's company talking about family, health, and life in general.

Today has been a difficult Monday. But then ... the day of the week doesn't matter in this case. Although I rejoice that Ms. M is no longer in pain, no longer suffering, that she is happy and at peace in Heaven, my earthly heart is mourning the loss of the quiet presence of a kind woman.

Two quick stories I'd like to share about my Ms. M:

1) When I returned from my vacation, that first day, Ms. M. came past my window and greeted me with a true, heartfelt delight. She is the only resident with whom I shared some of my journey, and it was Ms. M. who, when I showed her my pictures of myself with Jensen & Jared, exclaimed that she knew them, that she watched Supernatural ... it was one of her favorite shows! She was happy that I had had the opportunity to go and to meet them, and happy that I had safely returned.

2) I cannot remember the first time, it's been years ago that she started stopping briefly at my window and quietly handing me a Hershey bar. She knew I love chocolate and seemed to have fun sporadically popping by and gifting me with the sweet treat. There was no regularity involved, yet she seemed to know when I could use that chocolatey sweetness the most. I would perhaps get a couple a week, sometimes a couple of weeks would pass without one. Nothing obvious ... just a simple clearing of the throat and a tap tap at my counter to get my attention, and then she would lay it down and head on down the hall or across the lobby. No conversation was needed. Of course, she knew by my lightning smile the pleasure it brought. She probably also caught on when I would dash out my door and wrap her in a hug that she had made me very happy.

I am going to miss my friend, Ms. M. Probably more than I can imagine at this time.

I'll miss her smile, her strength, her perserverence.

I'll miss her chocolate.

Holey Moley! It's A Supernatural Thursday!

This morning I got up a bit extra early. (I have no clue as to why) I've been doing laundry and I'm thinking about holes and decided to write about them.

Yep. Holes.

What kind of holes, you might ask? (and even if you don't)

Well ... I can tell you that I'm not thinking of the holes in the ozone right now, I've only had my one cup of tea yet this morning and right now it's easier to contemplate the holes in my Rice Krispies and what about them makes that inviting little "Snap" "Crackle" and "Pop".

I would give thought to those black holes in space, however I'm still trying to figure out how cyberspace opened a hole and swallowed the last three pages of my DaLDoM blog I have been suffering through for the last month when all I did was click the "Save" button on Microsoft Word. (If anyone has a number for Bill Gates ... I'd like to give him a "word")

No ... I'm not thinking deep philosophical thoughts ...

I'm not wondering about the fact that kids of all ages find a donut hole much more fun to eat than a regular donut.

I'm really not thinking about golfers and their intense passion to find that elusive "hole in one". (Although I was thinking of a particular friend this morning who truly does love the game of golf and hope she's doing alright ... "Hi Friend!" *waves*)

I'm actually not even giving a moment to thinking about that mysterious hole in the bottom of my lip that only opens when I am eating red sauce pasta and wearing a white shirt.

It's a bit more basic than that ... I'm folding laundry and I'm thinking about the holes I have found in clothing. You see, I just plucked from the basket this pink t-shirt with a daisy on the front. It's a nightshirt that was originally a regular shirt of my oldest girlie and passed to the twinks when they were smaller to be used as a nightshirt. It's been a favorite ... there was a struggle to have the oldest relinquish it even though it had grown entirely too small to wear (yes I know ... shirts don't grow, children do ... *sigh* ... work with me here ... it's early) and then when it was passed to the twinks, there occurred regular arguments between The Bickersons on whose turn it was to wear it. At one point the disagreements grew so large, we had to keep a chart of who wore it and when.

Needless to say ... it is one of those loved items. It is also an item that could be worn on Sunday, it is so holey. :-) Seriously.

When my girlie came out, dressed for bedtime, wearing this faded (yet still incredibly bright pink) shirt last weekend, I had to do a double-take and contemplate how best to retire said shirt. I had already fought the battle of the beloved Pinnochio shirt that was barely being held together at the top by the rim, one sleeve hanging down - anchored only by the stiches of thread under the arm. The hem had been ripped and a hole had emerged around the belly button area that a knee could easily fit through from underneath. In comparison, with three worn tears across the left side of the chest and three fingersized holes at the base near the non-existent hem, the pink daisy shirt seems to be all in one solid piece. I realized that retirement is still several wearings & washings & dryings & foldings away for this article of nightshirt bliss.

I'm not sure what it is about these holey t-shirts that makes them so comfortable and sought after to be worn. Yet, if I look in my own closet ... there is a purple and black flannel shirt that has been stitched back together so many times that I'm not exactly sure where the original thread stops and the new thread begins. With a hole in the side, and one at the cuff ... it is not a shirt that sees the public light of day. Yet on a cold, rainy Saturday, combined with a pair of grey sweats (or red and blue plaid flannels, whichever is handiest) it is my favorite thing to wear.

I don't know the reason, and at this point in the morning, I don't believe I really care. It was just something that struck my mind and gave me a thought to think for a moment.

Besides, here's the real conundrum ... why is it I just folded and put away 3 t-shirts with the size of holes that another arm or head could be inserted in my girlies jammie drawer and yet I threw away 1 sock because it had a hole about the size of my pinkie in it?

Oh ... and why would this have anything to do with Supernatural, besides the fact that I wrote this on a Thursday morning?

Well ... I am a true obsessive and I can turn just about anything around to reflect my favorite show and the Winchesterboys. Afterall, as any fan can tell you ...

"Driver picks the music ... shotgun shuts his pieHOLE"

Thpppt!

Some mornings all you can do is say “what the …?”

Last week I was sick. Getting up and physically getting to work took everything I had on the days that I made it to the office. I was late each one. I knew this. I've never been the best at it, usually skating in at the very last minute. I knew I needed to do better. That was my mindset I took on over the weekend. I was going to do better! I did good on Monday (which we all know is the WORST day of the week AND it was a holiday, so I totally didn't want to be working anyway) … I even had time to splurge and stop on the way in for my favorite egg & sausage taquito, still making it to work on time.

Then came today - Tuesday. I swear … Murphy doesn’t have anything on “Cindy’s Law”.

Actual line of events:

Woke up late … instead of being dressed before taking my girlie to school, I barely had time to put a coat over my jammies … fortunately I slept in my flannel bottoms and shirt last night.

Got home from taking girlie to school and decided to go ahead and take trash to curb. Bag caught on stupid broken car in garage … broke … trash & garbage all over front of garage and driveway. Must be cleaned up.

Toast burnt. Set off smoke alarm.

Milk spilled on counter and floor.

Skipped my morning tea because of running late, therefore, also missed my morning quiet time.

Lunch bag fell behind dryer and had to get step stool to reach over the back and retrieve.

Found hole in original pair of black pants to wear. Changed to another pair of black pants.

Toilet over flowed – not from the front but from the back. Had to turn water off at base of toilet. Mop up floor. Will wait to fix till get home at night.

Black pants now drenched. Change to blue pair of pants.

No shirt clean to go with blue pair of pants.

Change to only remaining pair of pants … grey wool. Remember that today is going to be warmest of the week … in the 60s. Wear sleeveless shirt under jacket hoping to offset sweat from wool pants.

Pack lunch without incident. Feeling lucky.

Pull up to stoplight to exit neighborhood. Already running late. Wait for green light. Green light switches on … just as siren sounds from firehouse at the corner. Have to wait for firetruck and EMT bus to clear intersection. Just as they clear the intersection, my green light turns red and I must wait again. Since I happened to glance at the clock when I arrived at the intersection because I wanted to see how late I was running, I know that I got to enjoy sitting at that intersection for a full 7 minutes. Joy.

Race down the road, paranoid, watching for cops as my little red car flies down the road. Notice that gas gauge is low. Decide to wait until after work and hope.

Highway traffic moving good. Feeling hopeful.

Exit ramp to second highway blocked due to construction. Have to detour.

Manage to get off at next exit but need to deal with more stoplights with this street. Give up in frustration.

Slam into parking lot, grab stuff, walk quickly to door.

First words out of manager’s mouth are not “Good morning” or “hello”. They are “Cindy, I really need you to be here on time.”

Frustration doesn’t even begin to cover it.

I want to scream at the top of my lungs … THIS DAY SUCKS!!!!!!

Deep breath.

Okay.

It is my choice. I can have a good day or I can have a bad day. It’s a matter of perspective. It is a matter of how I choose to go forward.

I’ve made a cup of tea (blackberry sage, a gift from a friend who loves me) and I’ve had a moment to write out my frustration.

I’m going to choose to have a good day.

However my choice is coming with an addendum. One more thing does not go right … I’m heading home and going back to bed.

Seriously.

A Morning in October

October is one of those months that I have always enjoyed. The air in the morning is always crisp and cool. When the days are filled with sunshine, then the sky is a magnificent color of blue - the shocking kind that makes the white clouds scattering across it even more white. When the days are rainy, they are dark and gray and gloomy. Instead of freshening up everything and cleaning, the rain and wind brings down more of the rust and orange and yellow and red leaves, littering the ground with them so that when the sun comes out once more and dries they they are free to blow and whisk around in the air.

Today brought a sunshine filled morning ... as I stood in my kitchen window waiting for my water to boil and my tea to steep (blueberry this morning - which is wonderful with a slice of blueberry crumble bread spread with a thin layer of cream cheese - yum!) I enjoyed the slight chill of my kitchen due to the windows being left open during the night. The air was fresh. The sky was once again that blue that simply can't be captured by film or color. The sun was bright, casting it's shiny rays around my kitchen and sparkling off of the glass pumpkin resting on the countertop. I could hear the Oklahoma wind "sweeping across the plain" rustling the leaves in the trees and blowing them into little mini tunnels of colors.

October is here and fall is truly begun. One of my favorite days is just around the corner, but more on that later. Right now it's simply time to drink my tea, eat my toast and enjoy the morning.

Won't you join me?

Oh What a Beautiful Morning ...

Ahhh! What a wonderful morning! I woke this morning to the smell of freshly baked bread, thanks to my good buddy "The Breadmaker". I stood in my kitchen, waiting for my water to heat to make my morning cup of tea, and basked in the radiant sunshine bursting from a gorgeous blue sky as it streamed in my kitchen window. My girlies were still sleeping, so I had my Saturday morning of peace to enjoy.

I spread a slice of my freshly baked bread, added butter and my favorite "homemade by Mom" strawberry jam on top. Taking my freshly brewed pot of tea and my slice of warm fresh bread to my computer to catch up on some correspondence, I laughed to myself as the words from the song "Oh What a Beautiful Morning" from Oklahoma! came unbidden into my brain.

Wanting to enjoy the view outside once more before beginning my day, I open the curtain next to my computer and peer out to my backyard. Just as the verse of the song "the corn is as high as an elephant's eye" bursts through my brain, I view what we call the "cornstalk weeds" growing in my backyard.

Anyone have an elephant I can measure these with? Cause I gotta feeling they're taller than an elephant's eye. Great!

Run On Sentence or Breakfast Dilemma?

Rhetorical "Murphy's Law" Question for today:

Why is it that it is the morning you wake to a growling, hungry stomach because you forgot to eat dinner the previous night since you had a snack when you first got home and then became engrossed, first in a movie and then a new book as you waited for your favorite show to be broadcast late due to being interrupted by a pre-season football game that you wouldn't have watched if the "first string" players were playing, let alone the third, fourth, and fifth string players that they announced would be playing at the beginning, only to find out that your show isn't being shown later because your current television station is run by idiots who forgot to load the proper tapes thereby letting the reruns of reruns of reruns continue to play, so you are required to watch your favorite show on video but that's okay because you haven't seen it in awhile, and you are actually pleased because your video tape doesn't have commercials due to the fact that while amidst your laughter and tears the first time around you managed to pause during the recording at all the right places and so you enjoy your show and fall asleep with tears of happy sadness, but now it is morning and your stomach is really letting you know that the normal cup of tea is not going to be enough, that you realize you have absolutely no cereal, no eggs, no muffins, no bread, no breakfast food of any seeming shape or form because you were not in the mood the night before to stop at the store and so now you have no idea what you are going to feed the now ravenous monster that is taking up residence inside your belly as you stare blankly into pit of an empty refrigerator and then the cavern of an even emptier pantry and you know that you will not be able to wait until you have had time to shower and dress and drive to McD’s or any other establishment and so you settle for the only things that are available to calm the beast that has set up residency inside your body … the single serving container of mashed potatoes left over from dinner three nights previous and a small container of preservative laden chocolate pudding?


Yum! Now to figure out lunch.

Peaceful Moments Once A Week

Saturday mornings are my favorite time of the week. They are a time that is so incredibly peaceful for me and I am loathe to ever give them up. It is only for something REALLY important or life threatening that I consider altering what has become one of the best times of the week for me.

I used to be a slug-a-bed. I admit it. I loved sleeping as late as possible on Saturdays, never realizing the moments I was missing. Even after I started getting up earlier due to the girlies, I didn't truly appreciate these moments.

(Ahem. It's a bit difficult to be a slug-a-bed when you have a couple of two year olds standing at your face at the side of the bed, poking you and declaring their hunger. But even then, after sleepily preparing the food of choice and properly setting the cartoons to where they were requested, I admit to becoming a slug-a-couch for a good portion of the morning. Well, a slug-a-couch with attachments. Somehow, said girlies always seemed to be on top of me as I resumed my snoozing.)

In the last couple of years, though, I have found that Saturday mornings have increasingly become "My Time". I continue to wake early, as I do during the week, but in an "on my own without the alarm", relaxing, non hurried, don't have to get dressed and out the door, type of way. Standing at my kitchen window, surveying the weather that God has chosen for the day, I make a little pot of tea and begin my day with my computer. I check in on family and friends, I wander over to my little Sanitarium in the TVGuide Blogosphere, make my rounds, and check in with friends there. After I have finished my tea, I might get started on a few basic household chores - depending on my mood and the condition I left the kitchen the previous Friday night. I might spend some time writing, particularly if a new idea has taken hold of my brain and transmitted itself to my fingers. Or, I might simply brew another little pot of tea and enjoy some time with one of the three or four books I always seem to have started.

In any event, Saturday mornings are now my time. While those girlies now enjoy being teenage and preteen slug-a-beds, I enjoy the peace of those hours. The quietness of the house without TV or music raging, when my heart can rejoice and my soul can rejuvenate. During this time, I find peace.