text – Swimming With The Rain

Life

Courage can start with picking out new pottery

June 7, 2020

Yesterday, I spent the day helping a friend move to a new house that she bought. It’s perfect for her and that view… Oh my! The spacious back yard overlooks the bay, with plenty of room on the back deck to enjoy the water and sunrise. She was super lucky that the previous owners left window boxes with freshly planted petunias, adding to the charm from either inside or out.

Adding to the charm of her new house was her variety of plants in colorful, sometimes eclectic, pots. The back of the moving van looked similar to that of a florist making deliveries, with wandering Jews and Ivy hanging from the wood rafters, and bowls of petunias and begonias packed in tightly. All that seemed to be missing were the plastic card holders with well wishes offered.

My slightly green thumb was beginning to itch. Oh, how I missed the color of outdoor plants! They always brought a smile to my thoughts, seeing them on my porch after a long work day, as if their flowers were saying, “Welcome home!” I’d always longed for my backyard to look like what my mind had imagined while reading ‘The Secret Garden’… Filled with whimsical plants in colored pottery lining the pebble covered paths, leading to a hidden bridge that connected to a maze of wandering ivy, luscious plants, and vibrant bushes with butterflies dancing around. Sure, there were times that I would add flowers to a dirt area in my backyard, but with kids and a dog running around, they didn’t last long. And in reality, if I would have had a secret garden, I would have gotten lost in there with a book, never to be found. Would that really have been such a bad thing, come to think of it? Ha! Looking back, it could have worked. You see, when my youngest son was little, he loved to help me pick out flowers for our front porch, always trying to find the right ones that smelled good or colors he thought I would enjoy. And when it would rain, instead of getting frustrated, he would say, “The rain is watering our plants and the sun will help them grow“. But, as time went on, sports, life, and challenging schoolwork got in the way. It seemed that suddenly, planting flowers with mom lost their thrill.

But, here I am with this sudden desire to watch plants evolve in to their own shape, maybe similar to watching my kids change and grow. (Well, that was just an A-HA moment, need to make a note of that.) So, I head to the store early on this rainy Sunday morning, to wander the garden section. The peace of mindlessly walking around, smelling the herbs, and reading different labels reminded me of the long ago quiet bookstores. I selected a variety based upon full sun, mid sun, and light sun, along with annual versus perennial. Not caring for the bland selection of pots (or pricing), I headed to a discount store hoping they would have some that caught my eye. This was going to be my chance to have the courage to go for something a bit more vibrant, not just practical and sturdy. They did not disappoint!

The heat index is already pushing 90 with 85% humidity at 10:30 am and I felt the need to do this today, why? What was I thinking? Oh, that’s right… My slight green thumb was itching! But, as I found my hands in the potting soil, adding to each pot, deciding which plants should be combined or left with their own kind, that old feeling came over me as I found where each one belonged. But, this time, it felt a bit different… These plants were at home.

Just as I was feeling quite satisfied with my progress and packing up the empty containers, a text came through from my friend across the street. “I look out my window and there you are with two different color gloves!” Laughing, I replied back with, “My damn dog seems to think they are great chew toys so when the cabinet is open and she can get to one, she snags it and starts trotting off. Freaking dog!” I needed that moment to break up the moment and look up at the sky.

A summer storm was coming in, so I lined up my new plants and admired my baby steps in purchasing an array of somewhat colorful pots. They’ll spend a day soaking up some rain, reaching for the sun, before I decide where to place them. As I stood back to admire the beginning of my colorful world, I reflected on the words of my son from 10 short years ago that is more a metaphor on life than he knew at the time… “The rain is watering our plants and the sun will help them grow“.

I had some cuttings from a plant that I trimmed down that had finally grown sufficient roots. Broken super glued coffee cups and small plastic pots are the perfect place to transfer these small plants while they adjust to their new environment.

This type of pot is something that I would have never picked out before. But, I loved the look and have always admired this style when I have seen in other peoples gardens.

So, what are you waiting for? There is always going to be rain, but there will be sun, and that is when we grow. Find the courage to pick out your own pottery and let your vibrant side show! For those of you that have seen your friends admiring your plants and beautiful pottery, just remember what an excellent gift that would make for them when the time arises. Not only is it the plant and the pot it is in that they admire, it is YOU, and your courage to do what they are striving for.

Entertainment

George Strait, Run

June 2, 2020

April 2011… I got a call from my youngest son’s dad one morning. He was still Active Duty Air force, months away from retiring. We still got along quite well and I was pretty involved with his family. I was standing outside, away from the prying ears of our 8 year old. Gregory asked me for the first big request that would begin our four year long journey of watching his older parents die… “Will you go to the hospital and check on my dad? My sisters say he’s fine, but they also said that Red Cross will be calling me.” If you need to know one thing about the military when Red Cross gets involved, it’s that death is basically imminent.

For years, I had referred to this family as my “fake in-laws”. It wasn’t in a demeaning way. They weren’t really my in-laws (had never been married to the man) but we celebrated holidays together and we got along like family, the good and the bad. We had an unspoken agreement that if we were with our son at a doctor’s appointment and they called us back saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson”, we didn’t correct them; it just wasn’t worth the time explaining to an Airman that we may never see again. Now, daycare and school was a totally different thing. Although we never referred to each other as a spouse, I was the “daughter-in-law”, when it came to dealing with his parents. How were we to explain to people the nature of my relationship with his family and have them understand because they couldn’t usually grasp the situation.

I got to the hospital and headed toward Granddaddy’s room. Honestly, I expected to see him sitting up in bed and chatting away, even if looking a bit tired, hoping this was all an overreaction. What I saw instead was this 6 foot 3 man lying flat on his back, jaundice, with a urine bag filled with what looked like watered down coffee. My immediate reaction inside my brain was, “This is what a dying man looks like”.

I walked over to the sisters and gave a brief, ‘good to see you hugg’ as they chatted away, oblivious to the seriousness going on around them. I think we all have those moments when our brain is protecting us from what’s to come.

In walks Granddaddy’s nurse. About 5 foot 7, slender, dark brown bob haircut. Funny the details one remembers from these times… Maybe I knew that she was about ready to change this family’s world and my mind took a snapshot of her. She asked if I was family and the sisters chimed in with, “She’s the daughter-in-law”. I smiled and said, “Yep. My kid is the heir to the throne.” (Long running joke in the family) The sisters start asking how they would have to change Granddaddy’s diet when he went home. With a puzzled look on her face, the nurse that yes, his diet would change, when he left there. That part wasn’t sinking in with them… Maybe, they were optimistically avoiding the truth. Having finally realized that he was in liver failure, the nurse and I locked eyes and I asked the question I was sent there for, “Is he actually going to be able to go home?” She quietly shook her head, I slightly nodded in reply. You see, my aunt had just died less than 6 months prior of basically the same thing. Although I wasn’t back home when it was going on, based on conversation with my family, I knew the road ahead we were about to take. The sisters were quietly crying because now they knew what they had been avoiding. And I knew that I would have to speak up and get the answers to questions that his son would have been asking. That is exactly what I told her… “I am here on behalf of his son so please say what needs to be said so I can let him know.” He woudl be stabilized for transport to an extended care facility but in the meantime, a Red Cross volunteer would come in to start getting information to bring his son home.

Shortly after, in walked a short, plump woman that just exuded love and warmth. You just knew that she was the one that could give the best huggs and hold you tight while you cried. She started asking military questions… base, rank, last four, squadron, etc. I knew all of the answers and gave them. My job right then was to make things a bit easier on the sisters so they could be there for each other. She looked at Granddaddy, then looked at us and asked, “Can I pray for all of you?” I can’t recall the exact words but I do remember the feeling of guidance and support.

I sent the text… “Let me know when you’re ready.” My phone rang. I stepped out in to the hallway and started walking and said, “What all do you want to know?” The reply was, “Everything.”

“Get here now. I don’t care how you do it, just get here. Drive down, get on a plane, just get here now.”

Granddaddy died about a month later with his son at his side, holding his hand. Every time I hear this song, I remember telling his son almost the exact same words, “Oh, baby run”.

Friendship

An overwhelming love of a friend…

May 29, 2020May 31, 2020

It was a simple request I sent to a few people along with the link for this website…

Hello! If you have a chance, will you take a look at this and let me know what you think. It’s not done, obviously, and some “buttons” do not have links. I would really like your honest opinion about the layout, etc, anything that you think needs to be updated, etc. And if you would like to follow on fb, pinterest, or instagram, that’s cool, too. I haven’t decided yet if I want to keep my name off of it, so please don’t announce that this is me. Oh! And if looking from your phone, it may not be as “smooth” as from computer. I just need some different eyes on it, besides mine, and I’m reaching out to a few who I think would like it. Thank you!

I sent this out before heading to work and expected… Oh, I don’t know what I expected. Something. Someone to tell me that it was good… that they enjoyed how to cut a pineapple or that they like the pictures.

Sitting at work, the facetime call comes in. Have you ever had this gut reaction that this is going to be an emotional call? I did. So, I walked outside to have some privacy. I didn’t even put my sunglasses on and I always have them on outside. Somewhere in me, I knew my eyes needed to be seen by her.

And there she was… I’m not sure I would say my mentor because we don’t deal with business stuff together… I’m not even sure if friend is a strong enough word… She is the one that can read me like a book. I can look at her and put on a smile and say that I am doing great and she’ll just look at me and my truthful words will come rushing out. There is something that surrounds her… This warmth, this acceptance, this been there done that, this love, this joy… And there she was with tears coming down her face…

“Oh, honey! I knew it. There is no better gift than to witness a persons transformation.” My tears were falling as I told her that I just felt like I have so much to say and I’ve been wanting to do this for so long and the timing finally felt so right, that I haven’t felt so sure about something this strong in such a long while. She explained to me that it was my throat chakra with having so much to say and I need to say it and get it all out. Through tears, I continued to tell her that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to let people know it was me yet. “God is listening and you need to stay right there. Focus on that. Keep a bubble and stay in this path.”

We ended that call with telling each other, “I love you.” I knew that she would be proud of me. I could sense that she would be the one that would totally get WHY I was doing this and would see the deeper wounds that were coming out in my writing.

I don’t often have that overwhelming sense of someone being proud in me often. Sure, family will allude to it for keeping my head afloat, but they love to remind me of things I have screwed up on. But, her words, they felt different. It was an overwhelming love that I felt surrounded by and I needed to experience that… It had been too long.

So, here I continue on this journey full of love and support. I hope that my words will make a difference in someone’s life one day the way she has made a difference in mine.

Courage can start with picking out new pottery

George Strait, Run

An overwhelming love of a friend…

My favorite articles