EXCLUSION

Exclusion of the heart is most painful. That sentence may not have made sense. In other words, when someone doesn't want your love.

  

food for thought: “He drew a circle that shut me out.”—E. Markham

REMAINDER

 For the remainder of my life, I hope to always give with love.

food for thought: What would you like to do with the remainder of your life?

INTRINSICALITY

Stumped again… I understand the meaning, but putting it into a sentence is another thing, and I have a hard time pronouncing it!

food for thought: “Character is higher than intellect.”—Emerson

What is the innermost recesses of my heart?

The Most Beautiful Bride

Dear Mom,

On Saturday, May 12, my step-son, Todd was married to Sam. I know all brides are beautiful, but Sam had to be the most beautiful bride I've ever seen. She truly glowed. There was no 'look how beautiful I am' going on, she was just her sweet adorable self.

I worried during the ceremony that Sam or Todd would pass out from nerves, but they held it together. Then they each read their vows, that they wrote. Todd opened everyone's hearts with his raw honesty proclaiming how Sam's love made him whole. I doubt there was a dry eye in the place. Then Sam opened those hearts even further with her promises of love to Todd. I really can't remember hearing more beautiful sentiments being said to one another.

I couldn't help but think after I listened to their words that, as a writer, as long as one speaks from the heart, it can only touch one's heart.

Congratulations to Todd and Sam - may you touch one another's heart for the rest of your lives.

Here they are after the ceremony

Here's Todd's oldest son, Jack

And the twin's, Lucas and Lily

Here's Lily and her cousin, Logan during the ceremony

P.S. Sam, seriously, you were the most beautiful bride.

Journaling

Dear Mom,

I journal—handwrite—every day or nearly. Sometimes on busy days it slips by, but I try and make it a priority. It’s my life line, what keeps my sanity. I purchase composition books during school supply sales and pick them up for 50 cents. But to liven them up a bit, I’ll cut out pictures in magazines and cover them or paste in sayings or pictures throughout the notebook—and surprise myself when I approach that page.

Like the other day—“There are no traffic jams when you go the extra mile.” There’s a picture of the front of an old car along with the quote. I had been thinking about this during the holiday season with all the stuff to be done—but when I give 100 percent—with love—in whatever I’m doing, it all works out. No traffic jams. What’s hard is trying to remember that all the time. I get caught up in this or that and hit a road block. That can be good because it makes me stop and think—what’s really important here? There’s something so totally freeing to be able to drive over the road block knowing that I’ll arrive at my destination, and I can do it with my heart on my sleeve or a chip on my shoulder. The heart on my sleeve makes my ride much more enjoyable.

Birthday Blessings

Dear Mom,

I do believe I’m overwhelmed by all the sweet things that loved ones have done for me for my birthday. It started a week before my birthday when my “other mom” Elsie (that I wrote about when I wished my best friend a happy birthday) came over with a gift. About 20 plus years ago, I had started on this little quilt. Recently I found it and decided that I was never going to do anything with it and gave it to Susan to give to her mom who quilts. Some of the pieces of material came from Elsie’s mother and it seemed appropriate to give it to her. It just needed a back and to be quilted. I had already appliquéd the hearts on the squares. Now that little stinker finished it and gave it back to me—for my birthday.

The next day I met a dear friend who gave me a cookbook (The Route 66 St. Louis Cookbook by Norma Maret Bolin) and some beautiful stationary. In the cookbook is a gooey butter recipe that I’m anxious to try to see if it’s as good as mine ☺. Nothing like bragging, but somebody has to do it.

Sunday my little sister Ruthie drove on the snowy highway and delivered a homemade birthday/anniversary cake for Norm and me. OMG, it was so delicious that it is now my favorite kind of cake—Spiced Chocolate Torte wrapped in Chocolate Ribbon. She told me it came from the December 1984 Bon Appétit magazine. The cake has 42 ounces of chocolate in that baby—what’s not to love?

My daughter Rita knitted a lovely scarf—not the kind that keeps you warm as she has knitted me several of those. This one is to class up my looks! My stepdaughter Robyn created an owl necklace that’s absolutely beautiful—it goes along with my new role as Mother Owl. My granddaughter Logan wrote the sweetest note and letter to me.

Norm and I decided not to give each other anything—there’s nothing neither of us need. However we decided I would purchase the goods that are needed to go with a book that my sister Ruthie gave me some time ago (Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day by Jeff Hertzberg, M.D. and Zoë François). Anyone who loves homemade bread will love this. It doesn’t fit in the “trying to lose weight” category, but better for you if you’re going to eat bread, in my opinion.

Then there were many birthday wishes via email and Facebook. Real birthday cards were sent my way and phone calls all throughout the day. Such overwhelming love —who could ask for more?

Happy Anniversary Ruthie & Bud

Dear Mom,

It’s Ruthie’s wedding anniversary. I don’t remember how long she and Bud have been married, but it’s the second marriage for both of them. Ruthie lost her first husband to cancer. Bud’s to divorce. They say divorce is like the same trauma as a death, but I would have to think death is more so. I never lost any husbands to death, although there were times I wanted to kill them. No disrespect intended, and of course, I never would. Just an expression.

Death has more of a closure. Whereas divorce—depending on the situation—can be more like an opened wound. That’s my opinion anyway and I’ve been through enough to have some experience.

Ruthie is married to my best friend’s brother. I wondered if they would hit it off and I mentioned it to Ms. Matchmaker who ran with that thought and there you are. Some matches do make it—the fire always burning.

I think it’s interesting how couples meet and I don’t think I know the story of how you and Dad met.

Here’s to Ruthie & Bud—may the fire of your love always warm your heart.

More on My OB-GYN

Dear Mom,

It just goes to show that when you have something that is in your head that you know how it played, doesn’t always mean it comes out that way when you are writing. (Read: My OB-GYN if you haven’t.)

Apparently a blogger friend misunderstood that my OB-GYN wanted to be involved with me, but NO that wasn’t the case. Dr. M was calling for his son, although his son had no idea, hence why I said, “Oh my son would be livid if he knew what his ole dad was up to, but I just thought if you weren’t involved with anyone….” Dr. M was trying to play match-maker with his son and me. I don’t know if Dr. M ever confessed to his son what he did.

Mom, just wanted to set the record straight so that no one thinks Dr. M was some kind of weirdo who wanted to date me. Dr. M was one of the kindest Souls I’ve ever met. He had a bright sunny disposition, took time with his patients, made them feel comfortable, but also didn’t sugar coat anything. If he thought you were gaining too much weight in your pregnancy, he said so. He was compassionate and caring. Sometimes I’d bring my kids with me and he always took time to talk to them. I hated to see him retire.

Knowing that Dr. M’s son could have inherited some of his father’s traits made for the heavy heart.

Dr. M has passed away, yet he’ll always remain in my heart.

Dream

Dear Mom,

I had the most incredible dream last night, flying all around. I was holding onto a pillow, I guess for security. It’s a personal dream so the only thing I can give away is that I felt immense love, joy, and freedom.

I wanted to stay in bed.

When I finally got up, the dream awakened me (once again) to know that I can do anything my heart desires, that nothing matters and that it all matters so long as I am filled with love. I need to remind myself of this when I have no self-love—when the whip in my head beats me with, Who do you think you are to write? You’ll never amount to anything. Nobody cares what you have to say.

Mom, did you have these kinds of thoughts? Were you doing exactly what you wanted to do or only what you thought you were capable of doing?

I need to fly right back into the dream and remember, always.