In about two hours and fifteen minutes, 2011 will become history and a new year will begin. Someone once told me that whatever you are doing when New Year's Eve becomes New Year's Day, that is what you will spend most of the new year doing. When Ken was alive, I always tried to make sure we would be kissing/cuddling at that moment. Since he died, I have usually spent that moment crying and wishing that things were different. Last year, I think my first Facebook status of 2011 said something like... "hopes this is the year that I can stop wishing things had turned out differently". Well, I can't honestly say that hope came true... at least not completely. But I can say that I really think it was better.
I stopped making "resolutions" years ago because I always felt so sad and disappointed when I inevitably broke them. So now, instead of making resolutions, I just have things I would like to do better on, and things I would like to not do so much. Baby steps, I guess, toward a bigger goal somewhere down the road.
So now, as 2011 is in its waning hours, I guess I can reflect on my progress from this time last year:
I wanted to read more, and MAN, have I ever!! I think I have read almost 100 books since we cut off the TV programming early in the year. And let me just say, that my Kindle is the greatest invention since JIF peanut butter! I had gotten out of the habit of reading while Ken was alive. It was weird... I could be doing anything else and Ken wasn't bothered by it. But if I had a book in my hands, it drove him NUTS! Said I was "ignoring him". I didn't understand it, but it was what it was. So I stopped reading much. I didn't realize how much I had missed it.
I wanted to read God's Word more. This, I was successful at. I chose a reading plan at the beginning of the year and with the exception of a day here or there, I finished reading the Bible all the way through again. This time, in the ESV. I hope to read a different version in 2012, and I would really like to try memorizing more Scripture. I don't know how that's going to work, though. Ever since I hit my head on the car, I tend to have short term memory problems at times. Oh well, I can try and I will ask God to help me remember as I "hide His Word in my heart".
I wanted to be more active. I have begun to move more these days. I bought a recumbent bike in July and except for the month of December, have pedaled some every day. I hope I can get back on schedule and continue to build up my endurance.
I wanted to keep a better rein on my blood sugar. This one, I did NOT do. I am hoping that I can do better at it in 2012. It is just so hard when all the things I love best are either pure sugar or starch that turns to sugar. I will keep trying.
I wanted to get out of the house more. I think I did pretty well on this one. I still stay home a lot, but God has blessed me with friends and new opportunities to "join in" with small groups where I am comfortable and accepted. I hope to continue this in the new year and maybe even increase my outside activities.
I wanted to start telling people how I felt when something affected me strongly. All my life, as far back as I can remember, I have always stuffed my feelings way down deep inside of myself. I would torture myself by replaying hurtful incidents over and over in my mind. Made myself so despondent when the person or people who had hurt my feelings in the first place, usually didn't even remember doing it. Well... this one I have done several times. And you know what I found out? People who are used to you taking their barbs quietly get kind of sideways when you tell them what you think. In fact, some of them get plain old MAD! But, there is such a wondrous freedom in saying what you feel and then letting it go. I believe that this is a trend I will continue. I am not out to intentionally hurt anyone's feelings or be hurtful just to be mean. I just want to bring to light that I have feelings too and if someone hurts them, I will be letting them know.
I wanted to write more. This one I wasn't so successful at. During late 2009 and all through 2010, I poured my heart and soul into the blog/book about Ken's illness and how he had to leave us. It was a tremendous relief to finally get all of that set down on paper (or computer, as the case may be). I don't know if I was just exhausted or what, but I didn't write anything more until this year. I decided to continue the blog, but I haven't been nearly as good at keeping it going as I had in the past. I would like to change that this year. So, I guess that is why I am here now... blogging out the old and blogging in the new. Hope to be here more often in 2012.
Happy New Year!
That "October-ish" Feeling
It has started working on me earlier this year for some reason and I don't know just why. It is that sideways feeling I always get when October rolls around. Yes, I know that September just started... like I said, it has started earlier this year.
I guess I should explain what it is about October that gets me all sideways. I used to LOOOOVE October. It was my very favorite month and my favorite time of year. When I was a little girl, I guess it was because of the fact that my birthday is in October. But it was more than that. I just loved the coolness in the air, the leaves changing colors, pumpkins, scarecrows... just the whole October atmosphere.
Later on, October got even better when Ken and I chose that month to get married. I remember the day of our wedding (October 14, 1989) was one of those beautiful fall days where the sky is just a deep, crystal clear blue. God smiled on us by giving us that beautiful day.
Many years later, on another beautiful fall day (October 6, 2002), Ken and I found ourselves speechless and sucker-punched in the office of a surgical oncologist, who told us compassionately, yet firmly, that Ken was going to die. I can only describe the feelings from that day as a storm.
Fear... shock... disbelief... anger... hurt... denial all tumbled over and over each other, creating this swirling sensation like a tornado, with Ken and I clinging to each other is the middle, too scared and uncertain to know what to do. The weather I had rejoiced in earlier now became a point of consternation. How DARE it be such a beautiful day when my sweet husband and I had just been told the worst news in our lives?
So now, instead of looking forward to October, I face it with a dread that just won't stop. I try not to think about it. I don't dwell on it. But it is almost a subconscious thing that creeps up on me when I least expect it. It often manifests itself physically. All of a sudden I'm more tired than usual, headaches crop up for no reason, I don't sleep soundly, and I find myself walking around grinding my teeth. It generally sets in around mid-September and pesters me for a couple of weeks before I realize what's going on. Then I "SIGH" my way through October and November (that's when Ken died).
Every year, I think it will get better. I don't talk about it much to people, because most of them don't want to hear that after all this time, I still miss Ken. In the beginning, people didn't want me to talk about it because they were uncomfortable with my grief. Now, I feel like people just think it's been long enough that it shouldn't bother me anymore. And maybe it has... but that doesn't stop those same feelings from swirling around again.
Since I don't think anyone except me reads my blog anymore, I guess it's okay to say it here...
I miss my husband, and October makes me sad... STILL.
I guess I should explain what it is about October that gets me all sideways. I used to LOOOOVE October. It was my very favorite month and my favorite time of year. When I was a little girl, I guess it was because of the fact that my birthday is in October. But it was more than that. I just loved the coolness in the air, the leaves changing colors, pumpkins, scarecrows... just the whole October atmosphere.
Later on, October got even better when Ken and I chose that month to get married. I remember the day of our wedding (October 14, 1989) was one of those beautiful fall days where the sky is just a deep, crystal clear blue. God smiled on us by giving us that beautiful day.
Many years later, on another beautiful fall day (October 6, 2002), Ken and I found ourselves speechless and sucker-punched in the office of a surgical oncologist, who told us compassionately, yet firmly, that Ken was going to die. I can only describe the feelings from that day as a storm.
Fear... shock... disbelief... anger... hurt... denial all tumbled over and over each other, creating this swirling sensation like a tornado, with Ken and I clinging to each other is the middle, too scared and uncertain to know what to do. The weather I had rejoiced in earlier now became a point of consternation. How DARE it be such a beautiful day when my sweet husband and I had just been told the worst news in our lives?
So now, instead of looking forward to October, I face it with a dread that just won't stop. I try not to think about it. I don't dwell on it. But it is almost a subconscious thing that creeps up on me when I least expect it. It often manifests itself physically. All of a sudden I'm more tired than usual, headaches crop up for no reason, I don't sleep soundly, and I find myself walking around grinding my teeth. It generally sets in around mid-September and pesters me for a couple of weeks before I realize what's going on. Then I "SIGH" my way through October and November (that's when Ken died).
Every year, I think it will get better. I don't talk about it much to people, because most of them don't want to hear that after all this time, I still miss Ken. In the beginning, people didn't want me to talk about it because they were uncomfortable with my grief. Now, I feel like people just think it's been long enough that it shouldn't bother me anymore. And maybe it has... but that doesn't stop those same feelings from swirling around again.
Since I don't think anyone except me reads my blog anymore, I guess it's okay to say it here...
I miss my husband, and October makes me sad... STILL.
Siblings
So, I am trying to figure out what it is in me that causes both of my siblings to not like me. I mean, there must be something fundamentally wrong with me if the people who should be my fiercest defenders and cheerleaders are falling over themselves to get away from me.
As far back as I can remember, there was never a time in my life when I felt like my sister liked me. She always treated me with such an air of disdain and I was totally beneath her interest. In elementary school, she was in a modeling club. The sponsor decided that it would be fun to have a Big Sister/Little Sister fashion show. When asked which girls had younger sisters, my sister did not raise her hand. I was only included when her friends told the sponsor I existed. I practiced the walk and turns with my friends for weeks because I did not want to embarrass my sister. But on the day of the show, her disgust at having to be seen with me was so strong, that I got flustered and just ended up sort of wandering around the stage. When I started high school, she told me flat that I was not to let anyone know that we were related and if we passed in the hallways, I was to pretend like I didn't know her.
Now that we are grown, we have this uneasy truce between us, mainly for the benefit of our parents. She still treats me with disdain, and honestly believes that whatever animosity lies between us is all something I have made up. But I guess it makes sense that she would see it that way. Most people do not remember the hurtful things they say and do to people they don't care about.
Now, my brother, who I thought loved me and thought I had a good relationship with, has decided that I am responsible for his life turning out crappy and for the failure of his marriage. He has decided that he needs to "stand up on his own two feet and be a man". I am all for that, but evidently, in his case, "being a man" means breaking the hearts of people who have loved and supported him his entire life.
I have always tried to be available and supportive for both of my siblings. And every time they called on me, (usually for my time or my money... my advice and counsel was not wanted or appreciated), I tried to do whatever i could to help. But when the single-most devastating event in my life was happening, when I was having to watch my husband die, support from my siblings was non-existent. When they would see me at our parents' house, they would say the cliche' words everyone says in such situations that are meant to be of comfort, but are mostly hollow. But that was as far as it went. I know that they were busy with their own lives, but I don't remember a single time that my sister ever called during that time and I can count on one hand the times that my brother called. And now, if I talk about that time, I am accused of being selfish and trying to make everything "all about me".
So, now I sit, trying in earnest to determine why it is this way. I have begged God to reveal to me what it is in me that makes me so unlovable in the eyes of my siblings. So far, God has been silent on the subject.
This is not written in an attempt to gain sympathy. It is written because it is fact. it is something I have needed to say out loud for a long time.
As far back as I can remember, there was never a time in my life when I felt like my sister liked me. She always treated me with such an air of disdain and I was totally beneath her interest. In elementary school, she was in a modeling club. The sponsor decided that it would be fun to have a Big Sister/Little Sister fashion show. When asked which girls had younger sisters, my sister did not raise her hand. I was only included when her friends told the sponsor I existed. I practiced the walk and turns with my friends for weeks because I did not want to embarrass my sister. But on the day of the show, her disgust at having to be seen with me was so strong, that I got flustered and just ended up sort of wandering around the stage. When I started high school, she told me flat that I was not to let anyone know that we were related and if we passed in the hallways, I was to pretend like I didn't know her.
Now that we are grown, we have this uneasy truce between us, mainly for the benefit of our parents. She still treats me with disdain, and honestly believes that whatever animosity lies between us is all something I have made up. But I guess it makes sense that she would see it that way. Most people do not remember the hurtful things they say and do to people they don't care about.
Now, my brother, who I thought loved me and thought I had a good relationship with, has decided that I am responsible for his life turning out crappy and for the failure of his marriage. He has decided that he needs to "stand up on his own two feet and be a man". I am all for that, but evidently, in his case, "being a man" means breaking the hearts of people who have loved and supported him his entire life.
I have always tried to be available and supportive for both of my siblings. And every time they called on me, (usually for my time or my money... my advice and counsel was not wanted or appreciated), I tried to do whatever i could to help. But when the single-most devastating event in my life was happening, when I was having to watch my husband die, support from my siblings was non-existent. When they would see me at our parents' house, they would say the cliche' words everyone says in such situations that are meant to be of comfort, but are mostly hollow. But that was as far as it went. I know that they were busy with their own lives, but I don't remember a single time that my sister ever called during that time and I can count on one hand the times that my brother called. And now, if I talk about that time, I am accused of being selfish and trying to make everything "all about me".
So, now I sit, trying in earnest to determine why it is this way. I have begged God to reveal to me what it is in me that makes me so unlovable in the eyes of my siblings. So far, God has been silent on the subject.
This is not written in an attempt to gain sympathy. It is written because it is fact. it is something I have needed to say out loud for a long time.
Raggedy Old Teddy Bears
I was in my closet the other day, looking for something … though now, I can’t remember what. I reached up to the top shelf and tugged at one of the many items that had landed up there over the past several years. Now, if your top closet shelf is anything like mine, you can well imagine the scene that unfolded next. That one tug initiated a complete avalanche of things falling on top of my head! I put my hands up to try and divert anything heavy that might be headed my way and waited for the deluge to stop. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the exact same spot where I had started, only now, I was in the middle of a large “puddle” of out-grown soccer and karate uniforms, various pillows, blankets, and mismatched kitchen rugs.
Breathing a looooong “SIGH” at the mess I had created, I started to reach for the fallen items when my eye was caught by a shy, lopsided smile, still on the top closet shelf. I reached up and pulled down what had to be one of the raggediest old teddy bears on the planet. “Oh, look!”, I whispered to myself, “it’s Big Teddy!”
Big Teddy was a huge teddy bear given to Jesse by his Mamaw when he was born. Because it was so big, it sat on the shelf in Jesse’s room for almost two years, because it was just too big for a baby to play with. Then, when Jesse was around 18 to 24 months old, he pulled the bear off the shelf and said, “Mama, I play with Big Teddy?” I nodded with a smile, and from that moment on, Jesse and Big Teddy were inseparable. Jesse hauled that bear around with him everywhere. He started out holding him by his bright red bow-tie, but eventually, the bow-tie was tugged on so much that the stitching gave way and it fell off. That’s when Jesse started dragging him by the ear.
Jesse never went anywhere without Big Teddy. That bear sat at the kitchen table while we ate, had his own special place beside Jesse’s car seat, and was always tucked in with Jesse’s sweet little arm encircling his neck. Even when we went to church, Big Teddy had to go too and wait in the car for us until the service was over. On Halloween, Jesse was a going to be a scarecrow. I was busily making his costume when Jesse came in, pulling Big Teddy by the ear, and said, “Big Teddy be a scarecrow, too?” So, of course, Big Teddy got a scarecrow costume as well. Once, following a visit with Grandmom and Granddad in AL, we were about halfway home when we discovered to our dismay, that Big Teddy was still at Grandmom’s house! Nothing would do but to go back and get him. So that is what we did.
Jesse was so attached to Big Teddy that I worried about what would happen if Big Teddy got lost or worn out beyond repair. I was working at the Flea Market then, and one day, found an exact replica of Big Teddy. I thought, “This is great! If anything happens to Big Teddy, I will just replace him with this bear!” A spare bear! What a great idea! Well, it would have been a great idea, if Jesse wasn’t so observant. About a week or so later, I had snuck Big Teddy into the wash. Jesse, of course, came looking for him. I handed him the spare bear and said, “Here’s Big Teddy, Sweetheart!” Jesse took the bear, hugged him a little bit, smelled him and said, “No, Mommy…I want MY Big Teddy!” So much for the replacement idea. So, we named the new bear “Big Freddy” and put him on the toy shelf. Jesse never played with him.
I don’t remember just when Jesse decided that he didn’t need Big Teddy so much anymore. I think it was just a gradual letting-go kind of thing. Anyway, one day when I was straightening Jesse’s room, I came across Big Teddy crammed in the toy box. He was a sad-looking bear, that’s for sure. His fur was patchy and half of his smile was gone. Under his chin, where his red bow-tie used to be, only a few red threads remained. He even had a big bald spot in the back of his head, where Jesse had stood him too close to the fireplace when he didn’t want Big Teddy to get too cold. I couldn’t bring myself to throw him away, so I washed him, smoothed his fur, gave him a big hug and moved him to the top of my closet. And that’s where he has lived ever since. The closet avalanche unearthed him and brought back those sweet memories. I hugged Big Teddy one more time, and put him back on the shelf.
As I came into my bedroom, my eyes fell on another raggedy old teddy bear, this one on my own bed. Like Big Teddy, this bear is in rough shape. And also like Big Teddy, he holds precious memories. His name is Lancelot.
Lancelot started off as a noble-looking bear, tan with brown ears and paws, in a gift shop at Walt Disney World, in Orlando, Florida. He and his stalwart companion, Sir Didymus, were adopted by my Sweet Pea, (my niece, Michaelann) when she and her husband were there on their honeymoon. Michaelann has always loved stuffed animals, and these two were wonderful additions to her collection.
The story of how Lancelot came to be on my bed is very precious. He arrived at my house the day after my husband, Ken, died. My Sweet Pea brought him in and said, “Aunt Sammi, this is Lancelot. I have spent all night long hugging him. I am going to leave him here so that whenever you need a hug, he will have one for you.” Sweet beyond words.
I started hugging Lancelot that very night, and now, almost seven years later, I am still hugging him every night. I tried once to give him back to Michaelann, but I just couldn’t turn him loose. He has been and continues to be a comforting presence in my sadness. Just as Big Teddy went with us everywhere all those years ago, so Lancelot goes with me now. His fur is patchy, half of his smile is gone, and one of his eyes is scuffed up so that he looks like he has a cataract. And I have absolutely hugged the stuffing out of him – literally! I have hugged him so much that now his middle is hollow. I keep saying that I will put some more stuffing in him, but I can’t bring myself to slit the seam open.
It is strange how bundles of fur, stuffing and thread can bring such comfort. But I know that both of our raggedy teddy bears are always there when I need a hug. And that is a good feeling.
Breathing a looooong “SIGH” at the mess I had created, I started to reach for the fallen items when my eye was caught by a shy, lopsided smile, still on the top closet shelf. I reached up and pulled down what had to be one of the raggediest old teddy bears on the planet. “Oh, look!”, I whispered to myself, “it’s Big Teddy!”
Big Teddy was a huge teddy bear given to Jesse by his Mamaw when he was born. Because it was so big, it sat on the shelf in Jesse’s room for almost two years, because it was just too big for a baby to play with. Then, when Jesse was around 18 to 24 months old, he pulled the bear off the shelf and said, “Mama, I play with Big Teddy?” I nodded with a smile, and from that moment on, Jesse and Big Teddy were inseparable. Jesse hauled that bear around with him everywhere. He started out holding him by his bright red bow-tie, but eventually, the bow-tie was tugged on so much that the stitching gave way and it fell off. That’s when Jesse started dragging him by the ear.
Jesse never went anywhere without Big Teddy. That bear sat at the kitchen table while we ate, had his own special place beside Jesse’s car seat, and was always tucked in with Jesse’s sweet little arm encircling his neck. Even when we went to church, Big Teddy had to go too and wait in the car for us until the service was over. On Halloween, Jesse was a going to be a scarecrow. I was busily making his costume when Jesse came in, pulling Big Teddy by the ear, and said, “Big Teddy be a scarecrow, too?” So, of course, Big Teddy got a scarecrow costume as well. Once, following a visit with Grandmom and Granddad in AL, we were about halfway home when we discovered to our dismay, that Big Teddy was still at Grandmom’s house! Nothing would do but to go back and get him. So that is what we did.
Jesse was so attached to Big Teddy that I worried about what would happen if Big Teddy got lost or worn out beyond repair. I was working at the Flea Market then, and one day, found an exact replica of Big Teddy. I thought, “This is great! If anything happens to Big Teddy, I will just replace him with this bear!” A spare bear! What a great idea! Well, it would have been a great idea, if Jesse wasn’t so observant. About a week or so later, I had snuck Big Teddy into the wash. Jesse, of course, came looking for him. I handed him the spare bear and said, “Here’s Big Teddy, Sweetheart!” Jesse took the bear, hugged him a little bit, smelled him and said, “No, Mommy…I want MY Big Teddy!” So much for the replacement idea. So, we named the new bear “Big Freddy” and put him on the toy shelf. Jesse never played with him.
I don’t remember just when Jesse decided that he didn’t need Big Teddy so much anymore. I think it was just a gradual letting-go kind of thing. Anyway, one day when I was straightening Jesse’s room, I came across Big Teddy crammed in the toy box. He was a sad-looking bear, that’s for sure. His fur was patchy and half of his smile was gone. Under his chin, where his red bow-tie used to be, only a few red threads remained. He even had a big bald spot in the back of his head, where Jesse had stood him too close to the fireplace when he didn’t want Big Teddy to get too cold. I couldn’t bring myself to throw him away, so I washed him, smoothed his fur, gave him a big hug and moved him to the top of my closet. And that’s where he has lived ever since. The closet avalanche unearthed him and brought back those sweet memories. I hugged Big Teddy one more time, and put him back on the shelf.
As I came into my bedroom, my eyes fell on another raggedy old teddy bear, this one on my own bed. Like Big Teddy, this bear is in rough shape. And also like Big Teddy, he holds precious memories. His name is Lancelot.
Lancelot started off as a noble-looking bear, tan with brown ears and paws, in a gift shop at Walt Disney World, in Orlando, Florida. He and his stalwart companion, Sir Didymus, were adopted by my Sweet Pea, (my niece, Michaelann) when she and her husband were there on their honeymoon. Michaelann has always loved stuffed animals, and these two were wonderful additions to her collection.
The story of how Lancelot came to be on my bed is very precious. He arrived at my house the day after my husband, Ken, died. My Sweet Pea brought him in and said, “Aunt Sammi, this is Lancelot. I have spent all night long hugging him. I am going to leave him here so that whenever you need a hug, he will have one for you.” Sweet beyond words.
I started hugging Lancelot that very night, and now, almost seven years later, I am still hugging him every night. I tried once to give him back to Michaelann, but I just couldn’t turn him loose. He has been and continues to be a comforting presence in my sadness. Just as Big Teddy went with us everywhere all those years ago, so Lancelot goes with me now. His fur is patchy, half of his smile is gone, and one of his eyes is scuffed up so that he looks like he has a cataract. And I have absolutely hugged the stuffing out of him – literally! I have hugged him so much that now his middle is hollow. I keep saying that I will put some more stuffing in him, but I can’t bring myself to slit the seam open.
It is strange how bundles of fur, stuffing and thread can bring such comfort. But I know that both of our raggedy teddy bears are always there when I need a hug. And that is a good feeling.
My Sweet Girly-Girls
I have already blogged about two of my sweet girly-girls, my nieces, Michaelann (Sweet Pea) and Kaileigh Elizabeth(Kaileigh-bug). They are darlin’ girls and I am SO blessed that God has granted me the privilege of being their Aunt Sammi.
Michaelann has been my Sweet Pea now for almost 30 years. I knew from the first time I saw her, even though she was screaming her lungs out at the time and so red in the face she looked like her little head was about to explode, that she and I would always be close. I’m not the one who had the honor of giving birth to her, but in my heart, she is my girl-child. She and my knuckle-head boys are more like sister and brothers than cousins. I have always loved her as if she was mine and Ken did too.
Kailiegh-bug is seven-years-old and firmly grabbed hold of my heart the first time I took her in my arms. She became a part of our family during the time that Ken was sick, so unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance to love on her as much as I would have liked to when she was little. But I try to make up for that now, every chance I get.
Now, there are two more little girly-girls in my life and in my heart. They are the daughters of my Sweet Pea and her husband, Adam Courington. Emily Michelle is five-years-old and Allison Rain just turned 6-months-old.
Emily was born the year after Ken died. She arrived just before Christmas in 2005, just a few months after we moved to AL. I have to be honest and say that this little girl is probably one of the few things that kept me breathing at that sorrowful time. Michaelann would bring Emily to the house a couple times a week and I would cuddle and play with her while Michaelann cleaned my house for me and, later on, went with Jesse and Benjamin for karate lessons. The sweetness of that precious baby girl touched my heart and began to help heal the broken places. Emily was instrumental in helping to bring back my joy. She has grown up hearing about her “Uncle Ken” and how much he would have loved her and how much he loved her Mama. She will say from time to time, “Aunt Sammi, will we see Uncle Ken when we go to heaven?” I assure that we will and she says she is glad because she loves him too. How precious.
Emily’s baby sister, Allison, made her appearance this past October. She reminds me how wonderful it is to have a baby around. While Emily looks more like their handsome Daddy, Allison is the image of my Sweet Pea. When that sweet baby looks at me she smiles with her whole face. Such a darlin’ little girl. I am so blessed to have another sweet little girly-girl in my life.
I think one of the reasons God put these girls in my life is so that I could buy all of the pink stuff I wanted to. While I love my boys with everything I am and have, buying stuff for boy children just isn’t as much fun as buying for girly-girls!
Michaelann has been my Sweet Pea now for almost 30 years. I knew from the first time I saw her, even though she was screaming her lungs out at the time and so red in the face she looked like her little head was about to explode, that she and I would always be close. I’m not the one who had the honor of giving birth to her, but in my heart, she is my girl-child. She and my knuckle-head boys are more like sister and brothers than cousins. I have always loved her as if she was mine and Ken did too.
Kailiegh-bug is seven-years-old and firmly grabbed hold of my heart the first time I took her in my arms. She became a part of our family during the time that Ken was sick, so unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance to love on her as much as I would have liked to when she was little. But I try to make up for that now, every chance I get.
Now, there are two more little girly-girls in my life and in my heart. They are the daughters of my Sweet Pea and her husband, Adam Courington. Emily Michelle is five-years-old and Allison Rain just turned 6-months-old.
Emily was born the year after Ken died. She arrived just before Christmas in 2005, just a few months after we moved to AL. I have to be honest and say that this little girl is probably one of the few things that kept me breathing at that sorrowful time. Michaelann would bring Emily to the house a couple times a week and I would cuddle and play with her while Michaelann cleaned my house for me and, later on, went with Jesse and Benjamin for karate lessons. The sweetness of that precious baby girl touched my heart and began to help heal the broken places. Emily was instrumental in helping to bring back my joy. She has grown up hearing about her “Uncle Ken” and how much he would have loved her and how much he loved her Mama. She will say from time to time, “Aunt Sammi, will we see Uncle Ken when we go to heaven?” I assure that we will and she says she is glad because she loves him too. How precious.
Emily’s baby sister, Allison, made her appearance this past October. She reminds me how wonderful it is to have a baby around. While Emily looks more like their handsome Daddy, Allison is the image of my Sweet Pea. When that sweet baby looks at me she smiles with her whole face. Such a darlin’ little girl. I am so blessed to have another sweet little girly-girl in my life.
I think one of the reasons God put these girls in my life is so that I could buy all of the pink stuff I wanted to. While I love my boys with everything I am and have, buying stuff for boy children just isn’t as much fun as buying for girly-girls!
First House...Last House
I had to go back to Ringgold last week, which always turns me sort of inside-out. It’s hard to be where Ken and I lived now that he’s not there anymore. But I had to go because I was finally able to sell the last of the rental properties and the closing was in Ringgold.
It should have been a real celebration to finally not have to worry about rental properties anymore, and I am truly relieved. Ken made a good living for us with his rental property business and I am grateful for that, but I have to be honest and say that the business absolutely drove me crazy. I was raised with a simple philosophy when it came to bills…ALWAYS pay them, and always pay them ON TIME! So the haphazard attitude that most of our tenants had about their rent and water bills just flew all over me. I always thought that most people would pay rent FIRST, because, after all, if you don’t pay your rent, you could end up without a place for your family to live. Well, the people who lived in Ken’s properties paid everything else first (which included Rock-Star Cable TV, a couple of cartons of cigarettes, and filling up their refrigerators with cases of BEER) and IF they had enough left over, they would pay their rent. It was, in my opinion, ABSURD!
Their excuses for not paying rent ran from semi-creative to obviously untruthful, to absolutely unbelievable. In the months just after Ken and I married, the women started showing up to talk to me and give me these sob-stories about how they didn’t have any money to pay the rent because they had no money to feed their babies or buy them diapers. Now I knew for a fact that most of them were receiving Food Stamps and WIC, so there was no reason for them not to have food for their kids to eat. They were less than appreciative when I reminded them of that fact. And when they gave me the diaper excuse, I would pull a bag of Jesse’s diapers out of the closet and try to give to them so they wouldn’t have that excuse. One lady refused to take the diapers because they were blue and her baby was a girl. She had just finished telling me that the only thing she had to put on her baby was feminine napkins, yet she refused to take my blue diapers to put on her girl child’s bottom! She finally ended up cursing at me and leaving in a huff. Once word got around that Mrs. Lunsford wasn’t apt to believe the tales they told, they stopped coming to talk to me. Ken was able to let most of it roll off of his back and not worry about it, but it just made me plain-old MAD!. It was like they were stealing from us and then laughing about it.
After Ken died, it only got worse. It seems that many of the tenants decided that they didn’t have to pay me, because their rental agreement had been with Ken. One guy even tried to convince me that Ken had promised to GIVE him the lot his trailer was on when he died! As if Ken Lunsford would EVER give away only ONE lot out of a whole trailer park. I guess people must have figured that grief would turn me stupid as well.
Anyway, long story short, after Ken died, I knew there was no way that I would be able to keep the properties because they frustrated me so. I struggled with it for a while because Ken really wanted me to keep the properties for the boys. But I finally had to beg his forgiveness and made the decision to sell them. (That, in itself, is another story that I will need to tell one day too. But for now, it still makes my stomach hurt to think about it much, so I will wait ‘til another time to tell it.)
Most of the properties sold fairly quickly. They had not been well cared for by the tenants over the years (especially after Ken died…that’s another part of the other story I will wait to tell), so I had to price them low so I could sell them “As Is”. One by one, they sold until all I had left was the little house that Ken and I had lived in when we were first married. The tenants that were in it when Ken died had been living there ever since Ken and I had moved out, back in 1990, and had been great tenants. They paid their rent every time, on time, and took good care of the place. About a year or two after Ken died, though, they decided they wanted to buy their own house. I tried to sell the little house to them, but she decided that if it was going to be her house, there was too much work that needed to be done on it. Wanted to find something (and did) that didn’t need as much “fixing-up”. I don’t blame her. She asked if I would consider renting the house to her son and his family. I agreed. Unfortunately, her son wasn’t as good a tenant as she had been all those years. He paid pretty regularly for the better part of a year, but then decided to stop paying any bills at all and abandon his family. They ended up living there for about 3 months without paying and finally abandoned the house after I threatened eviction.
So, there I was, with an empty house (in another state) that needed LOTS of refurbishing, no money to do it, and nobody up there who would help me fix it up and get it rented. So, as much as I hated it (I had really wanted to try and keep that one little house for the boys), I didn’t see any choice but to put it on the market too. Unfortunately, about the time I decided to sell it was also when the housing market took a nose-dive and became glutted with foreclosure properties that were much nicer and much newer than my little house. The house sat on the market with very little interest for almost a full year. Several people looked at it and made offers, but the offers were ridiculously low or the people couldn’t get bank financing and wanted me to hold the mortgage for them. Finally, after the last pitiful offer ($20,000 for a two-bedroom house on a level acre-sized lot!), I offered it to Ken’s niece for MUCH less than tax value and she decided to buy it.
I know I should have been thrilled to finally get the thing off my hands…it was only costing me money, sitting there empty. And I was glad to finally be rid of the worry it caused. But it was bittersweet because that little house held lots of memories for me. Ken was living there when we met, so we spent lots of time there before we got married. In fact, it was on those front porch steps that Ken actually proposed to me. We had been somewhere, I can’t remember where, and had just gotten back to the house. We were sitting on the front porch steps, just hanging out. Ken leans over, so his shoulder is touching my shoulder and says, “I reckon we can get married if you want to.” I know it’s not moonlight and roses, but it was so KEN! It is a precious memory, one that always brings both laughter and tears.
Ken and I also lived in the little house for a while after we got married, so it was our first home as a married couple. And it is where Jesse got his start—he was conceived in that little house. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were pregnant with him when we moved out. So, even though I was glad that the house finally sold, the memories made it harder to let go of than the other properties. And just being up in Ringgold for the closing made it more hurtful. But, I went by the cemetery before I came home and talked to Ken about it. When I left, I was peaceful about the whole thing. I wish things could have been different, but I know Ken understands.
It should have been a real celebration to finally not have to worry about rental properties anymore, and I am truly relieved. Ken made a good living for us with his rental property business and I am grateful for that, but I have to be honest and say that the business absolutely drove me crazy. I was raised with a simple philosophy when it came to bills…ALWAYS pay them, and always pay them ON TIME! So the haphazard attitude that most of our tenants had about their rent and water bills just flew all over me. I always thought that most people would pay rent FIRST, because, after all, if you don’t pay your rent, you could end up without a place for your family to live. Well, the people who lived in Ken’s properties paid everything else first (which included Rock-Star Cable TV, a couple of cartons of cigarettes, and filling up their refrigerators with cases of BEER) and IF they had enough left over, they would pay their rent. It was, in my opinion, ABSURD!
Their excuses for not paying rent ran from semi-creative to obviously untruthful, to absolutely unbelievable. In the months just after Ken and I married, the women started showing up to talk to me and give me these sob-stories about how they didn’t have any money to pay the rent because they had no money to feed their babies or buy them diapers. Now I knew for a fact that most of them were receiving Food Stamps and WIC, so there was no reason for them not to have food for their kids to eat. They were less than appreciative when I reminded them of that fact. And when they gave me the diaper excuse, I would pull a bag of Jesse’s diapers out of the closet and try to give to them so they wouldn’t have that excuse. One lady refused to take the diapers because they were blue and her baby was a girl. She had just finished telling me that the only thing she had to put on her baby was feminine napkins, yet she refused to take my blue diapers to put on her girl child’s bottom! She finally ended up cursing at me and leaving in a huff. Once word got around that Mrs. Lunsford wasn’t apt to believe the tales they told, they stopped coming to talk to me. Ken was able to let most of it roll off of his back and not worry about it, but it just made me plain-old MAD!. It was like they were stealing from us and then laughing about it.
After Ken died, it only got worse. It seems that many of the tenants decided that they didn’t have to pay me, because their rental agreement had been with Ken. One guy even tried to convince me that Ken had promised to GIVE him the lot his trailer was on when he died! As if Ken Lunsford would EVER give away only ONE lot out of a whole trailer park. I guess people must have figured that grief would turn me stupid as well.
Anyway, long story short, after Ken died, I knew there was no way that I would be able to keep the properties because they frustrated me so. I struggled with it for a while because Ken really wanted me to keep the properties for the boys. But I finally had to beg his forgiveness and made the decision to sell them. (That, in itself, is another story that I will need to tell one day too. But for now, it still makes my stomach hurt to think about it much, so I will wait ‘til another time to tell it.)
Most of the properties sold fairly quickly. They had not been well cared for by the tenants over the years (especially after Ken died…that’s another part of the other story I will wait to tell), so I had to price them low so I could sell them “As Is”. One by one, they sold until all I had left was the little house that Ken and I had lived in when we were first married. The tenants that were in it when Ken died had been living there ever since Ken and I had moved out, back in 1990, and had been great tenants. They paid their rent every time, on time, and took good care of the place. About a year or two after Ken died, though, they decided they wanted to buy their own house. I tried to sell the little house to them, but she decided that if it was going to be her house, there was too much work that needed to be done on it. Wanted to find something (and did) that didn’t need as much “fixing-up”. I don’t blame her. She asked if I would consider renting the house to her son and his family. I agreed. Unfortunately, her son wasn’t as good a tenant as she had been all those years. He paid pretty regularly for the better part of a year, but then decided to stop paying any bills at all and abandon his family. They ended up living there for about 3 months without paying and finally abandoned the house after I threatened eviction.
So, there I was, with an empty house (in another state) that needed LOTS of refurbishing, no money to do it, and nobody up there who would help me fix it up and get it rented. So, as much as I hated it (I had really wanted to try and keep that one little house for the boys), I didn’t see any choice but to put it on the market too. Unfortunately, about the time I decided to sell it was also when the housing market took a nose-dive and became glutted with foreclosure properties that were much nicer and much newer than my little house. The house sat on the market with very little interest for almost a full year. Several people looked at it and made offers, but the offers were ridiculously low or the people couldn’t get bank financing and wanted me to hold the mortgage for them. Finally, after the last pitiful offer ($20,000 for a two-bedroom house on a level acre-sized lot!), I offered it to Ken’s niece for MUCH less than tax value and she decided to buy it.
I know I should have been thrilled to finally get the thing off my hands…it was only costing me money, sitting there empty. And I was glad to finally be rid of the worry it caused. But it was bittersweet because that little house held lots of memories for me. Ken was living there when we met, so we spent lots of time there before we got married. In fact, it was on those front porch steps that Ken actually proposed to me. We had been somewhere, I can’t remember where, and had just gotten back to the house. We were sitting on the front porch steps, just hanging out. Ken leans over, so his shoulder is touching my shoulder and says, “I reckon we can get married if you want to.” I know it’s not moonlight and roses, but it was so KEN! It is a precious memory, one that always brings both laughter and tears.
Ken and I also lived in the little house for a while after we got married, so it was our first home as a married couple. And it is where Jesse got his start—he was conceived in that little house. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were pregnant with him when we moved out. So, even though I was glad that the house finally sold, the memories made it harder to let go of than the other properties. And just being up in Ringgold for the closing made it more hurtful. But, I went by the cemetery before I came home and talked to Ken about it. When I left, I was peaceful about the whole thing. I wish things could have been different, but I know Ken understands.
Furry Young'uns...Part 2
During the time that Ken was sick, Kim Headrick (a good friend and fellow Boynton Media Center volunteer) started looking for a puppy. She already had a veritable menagerie at home…dogs, cats, guinea pigs, chinchilla, chickens, sheep, in addition to her husband and two daughters, but she decided she wanted a Pomeranian puppy with a teddy bear face. She looked for quite a while and finally was able to find one she fell in love with way down in Ft. Payne, AL. She brought her home and named her “Sadie” (actually, I think her full name is “Sweet Southern Sadie Belle”). Sadie was a tiny little puppy, and Kim didn’t want to leave her at home by herself. So, she would put Sadie in her purse and sneak her into the Media Center. We would play with her all day. We all got pretty good at shelving books with one hand and holding little Sadie with the other. Of course, it was a big treat for the kids to get to see Sadie whenever they came to get books. They knew Sadie wasn’t really supposed to be in the school, so they would come to the desk, look both ways to make sure no one was around, and whisper, “Is the puppy here today?” She was our unofficial Media Center mascot until someone ratted us out to the principal. Wonder who that was?
Anyway, during this time, Benjamin absolutely fell in love with Sadie. He begged over and over if we could have a “Sadie puppy”. I said, “Baby, Mrs. Kim paid $400 for Sadie and I haven’t met a dog yet that I think is worth $400, and besides, we already have Dots. So no, we can’t have a Sadie puppy”. That was the end of it…or so I thought.
Shortly after Ken died, Kim told me that she was going to breed Sadie when she came into season. I knew she wanted more puppies, so I was not surprised. What DID surprise me, though, was that she said the pick of the litter was going to be a gift to Benjamin to cheer him up! Well, I was wonder-smitten (that’s my new word to take the place of flabbergasted – I think it is a much better word, don’t you?). Kim wouldn’t take no for an answer, and a little while later she announced that Sadie was expecting. We waited anxiously and decided that we would name our new addition “Lollipop”.
Lollipop Lunsford was born, I think, in March (could be April, though), and he was a single birth – no puppy brothers and sisters. We were in the process of getting ready to move to Alabama, so Kim graciously said she would keep him until we got all settled, later that summer. She brought him to meet us at the final Boynton assembly for that year. He was just the tiniest little handful of fluff. He looked just like Sadie, same coloring and all, so Benjamin was thrilled.
We moved the first part of June. After a couple or three weeks of unpacking and settling in, we were asked to come back for a picnic in our honor given by mine and Ken’s Sunday School class. I called Kim and told her I was coming and we met at my old house so she could bring Lollipop to us. He had grown, but he was still just itty bitty. We took him with us to the picnic, and he was the hit of the party.
I worried all the way home what Dots’ reaction would be to a new critter invading his space. He is VERY territorial and usually would quickly and aggressively run other dogs out of our yard if they came too close. But, it was almost as if Dots knew from the moment he saw Lollipop that he was there to stay. He looked him over, sniffed his hiney, and started PLAYING with him! I think Dots thought we had brought him a new play toy.
It took us about a minute after we got him home to realize that his personality would not allow us to continue calling him “Lollipop”. He is the silliest little dog I’ve ever seen and he BARKS ALL THE TIME. Doesn’t matter if he knows you or not, if you go from one room to another, he is going to stand there and bark at you. Not only does he bark, but he does this little “crazy dog dance” where he turns ‘round and ‘round in circles and hops around on his hind legs. CRAZY little dog! So, we decided that since he is such a little doodle-head, we would call him “Doodlebug”. The name is a perfect fit.
Our third dog is Sam, a HUGE black lab. He was not one I intended to adopt, either. It’s funny how things turn out. The first thing Benjamin asked me when he saw that our new house had a fenced yard was for a BIG dog. He had been pretending since he was tiny that he had a big dog named “Chewy” that followed him everywhere he went. So when he saw the fence, he started pestering me about an outside dog. Of course, my answer was, “Are you kidding? We already have TWO dogs. The last thing we need is another one, especially one that would eat us out of house and home.” Benjamin would sulk for a while, but then he’d get over it. But every once in a while, he would bring up the subject of a big dog again. I would say “No!” again, and he would go off sulking again.
I guess it was the year Benjamin was in sixth grade that he was really struggling with his grades. It seemed that nothing I said or did would convince him to do better. After months of beating my head against that same wall, in a fit of desperation, I said, “If you will bring your grades up, I will get you a big dog!” That will teach me not to blurt things out when I’m desperate, because, of course, Benjamin’s grades started steadily improving. He started making plans for his big dog. He wanted a Golden retriever, like our neighbor had. I went online and started looking and could not believe how expensive dogs like that were! Some places wanted as much as $3000 for a puppy!!! I prayed, “God, I promised him one of these dogs! How in the world will I ever be able to afford one?!” God just smiled.
As Benjamin’s grades got better and better, I got more and more panicked. I couldn’t go back on my word, but I did tell him that we would probably have to go to a shelter and rescue a dog. Maybe they would have one mixed with Golden retriever. He agreed, but I could tell he was disappointed. Then, one Sunday night, Benjamin was telling some of the kids at church that I had told him if he would bring up his grades, I would get him a big dog. Three of the kids (siblings), said, “We have a black lab that will need a home in June.” Their mom is a missionary and they were going to return to the mission field in Africa that summer. They couldn’t take their dog with them. (Can’t you just see God smiling and nodding his head? He is just SO awesome the way he works things out!) So here we were, needing a big dog, and there they were, needing a home for a big dog. How perfect is that?!
A couple of weeks later, we went to meet “Sam” (his full name is “Lays’ Big Sam). And he is BIG! But he is the sweetest natured dog I’ve ever seen. Benjamin took one look and fell in love. I think the feeling was pretty mutual on Sam’s part. So, we brought him home. Dots was not real thrilled, but he knows Sam can take him, so he curbed his aggressiveness. Doodlebug, on the other hand, thinks he is bigger than Sam and tries to boss him around all the time. Sam just looks at him and smiles (yes, he really does smile) and tries to put his great huge paw on top of Doodlebug’s tiny little head. It is quite comical to watch them together. When Sam is excited and happy (which is most of the time) he jumps straight up in the air and does this silly little wiggle dance, like he is a tiny little puppy. Makes me laugh every time he does it.
So…we have not one, not two, but THREE dogs. Small, medium and large. Crazy, needy and goofy. Sometimes I wonder if we should change their names to “Larry”, “Moe”, and “Curly”. Whatever we call them, they all three, each in his own way, continue to be of great comfort to me and the boys. But PLEASE…don’t ask me to adopt your dog…three is enough, and evidently I have a hard time saying “No!”.
Anyway, during this time, Benjamin absolutely fell in love with Sadie. He begged over and over if we could have a “Sadie puppy”. I said, “Baby, Mrs. Kim paid $400 for Sadie and I haven’t met a dog yet that I think is worth $400, and besides, we already have Dots. So no, we can’t have a Sadie puppy”. That was the end of it…or so I thought.
Shortly after Ken died, Kim told me that she was going to breed Sadie when she came into season. I knew she wanted more puppies, so I was not surprised. What DID surprise me, though, was that she said the pick of the litter was going to be a gift to Benjamin to cheer him up! Well, I was wonder-smitten (that’s my new word to take the place of flabbergasted – I think it is a much better word, don’t you?). Kim wouldn’t take no for an answer, and a little while later she announced that Sadie was expecting. We waited anxiously and decided that we would name our new addition “Lollipop”.
Lollipop Lunsford was born, I think, in March (could be April, though), and he was a single birth – no puppy brothers and sisters. We were in the process of getting ready to move to Alabama, so Kim graciously said she would keep him until we got all settled, later that summer. She brought him to meet us at the final Boynton assembly for that year. He was just the tiniest little handful of fluff. He looked just like Sadie, same coloring and all, so Benjamin was thrilled.
We moved the first part of June. After a couple or three weeks of unpacking and settling in, we were asked to come back for a picnic in our honor given by mine and Ken’s Sunday School class. I called Kim and told her I was coming and we met at my old house so she could bring Lollipop to us. He had grown, but he was still just itty bitty. We took him with us to the picnic, and he was the hit of the party.
I worried all the way home what Dots’ reaction would be to a new critter invading his space. He is VERY territorial and usually would quickly and aggressively run other dogs out of our yard if they came too close. But, it was almost as if Dots knew from the moment he saw Lollipop that he was there to stay. He looked him over, sniffed his hiney, and started PLAYING with him! I think Dots thought we had brought him a new play toy.
It took us about a minute after we got him home to realize that his personality would not allow us to continue calling him “Lollipop”. He is the silliest little dog I’ve ever seen and he BARKS ALL THE TIME. Doesn’t matter if he knows you or not, if you go from one room to another, he is going to stand there and bark at you. Not only does he bark, but he does this little “crazy dog dance” where he turns ‘round and ‘round in circles and hops around on his hind legs. CRAZY little dog! So, we decided that since he is such a little doodle-head, we would call him “Doodlebug”. The name is a perfect fit.
Our third dog is Sam, a HUGE black lab. He was not one I intended to adopt, either. It’s funny how things turn out. The first thing Benjamin asked me when he saw that our new house had a fenced yard was for a BIG dog. He had been pretending since he was tiny that he had a big dog named “Chewy” that followed him everywhere he went. So when he saw the fence, he started pestering me about an outside dog. Of course, my answer was, “Are you kidding? We already have TWO dogs. The last thing we need is another one, especially one that would eat us out of house and home.” Benjamin would sulk for a while, but then he’d get over it. But every once in a while, he would bring up the subject of a big dog again. I would say “No!” again, and he would go off sulking again.
I guess it was the year Benjamin was in sixth grade that he was really struggling with his grades. It seemed that nothing I said or did would convince him to do better. After months of beating my head against that same wall, in a fit of desperation, I said, “If you will bring your grades up, I will get you a big dog!” That will teach me not to blurt things out when I’m desperate, because, of course, Benjamin’s grades started steadily improving. He started making plans for his big dog. He wanted a Golden retriever, like our neighbor had. I went online and started looking and could not believe how expensive dogs like that were! Some places wanted as much as $3000 for a puppy!!! I prayed, “God, I promised him one of these dogs! How in the world will I ever be able to afford one?!” God just smiled.
As Benjamin’s grades got better and better, I got more and more panicked. I couldn’t go back on my word, but I did tell him that we would probably have to go to a shelter and rescue a dog. Maybe they would have one mixed with Golden retriever. He agreed, but I could tell he was disappointed. Then, one Sunday night, Benjamin was telling some of the kids at church that I had told him if he would bring up his grades, I would get him a big dog. Three of the kids (siblings), said, “We have a black lab that will need a home in June.” Their mom is a missionary and they were going to return to the mission field in Africa that summer. They couldn’t take their dog with them. (Can’t you just see God smiling and nodding his head? He is just SO awesome the way he works things out!) So here we were, needing a big dog, and there they were, needing a home for a big dog. How perfect is that?!
A couple of weeks later, we went to meet “Sam” (his full name is “Lays’ Big Sam). And he is BIG! But he is the sweetest natured dog I’ve ever seen. Benjamin took one look and fell in love. I think the feeling was pretty mutual on Sam’s part. So, we brought him home. Dots was not real thrilled, but he knows Sam can take him, so he curbed his aggressiveness. Doodlebug, on the other hand, thinks he is bigger than Sam and tries to boss him around all the time. Sam just looks at him and smiles (yes, he really does smile) and tries to put his great huge paw on top of Doodlebug’s tiny little head. It is quite comical to watch them together. When Sam is excited and happy (which is most of the time) he jumps straight up in the air and does this silly little wiggle dance, like he is a tiny little puppy. Makes me laugh every time he does it.
So…we have not one, not two, but THREE dogs. Small, medium and large. Crazy, needy and goofy. Sometimes I wonder if we should change their names to “Larry”, “Moe”, and “Curly”. Whatever we call them, they all three, each in his own way, continue to be of great comfort to me and the boys. But PLEASE…don’t ask me to adopt your dog…three is enough, and evidently I have a hard time saying “No!”.
My Furry Young'uns
No, I’m not talking about Jesse when he forgets to shave, though he does tend to let himself get pretty furry before he does. Even Benjamin, of late, has begun to sport a little fuzz on his upper lip. Anyway… when I talk about my “furry children”, I am referring to our dogs.
If you had asked me before Ken died if I would ever have three dogs at the same time, I would have called you CRAZY! But here I sit, loving and taking care of three of the silliest dogs on God’s green earth.
Our oldest dog is “Dots”. He got that name from Jesse, who with the perfect logic of his Aspergian mind, took one look and said, “He has dots all over him. We should call him Dots.” He is, we think, a Rat Terrier, white with black spots (or black with white spots, depending on how you look at it). I say we think he is a rat terrier because he was a shelter rescue and we don’t really know for sure. He certainly looks like a rat terrier.
Dots is the only one of our pups that I actually went out purposely to adopt. It was several months after Ken had been diagnosed with cancer. I wanted something that would take the boys’ minds off of all of the grimness that comes when dealing with a terminal illness. When I told Ken I wanted to get them a dog, I don’t think he really thought I was serious. I don’t think he could imagine that I would want one more thing in that house that needed to be taken care of. Now that I think back on it, it was kind of nuts. I guess I can always plead temporary insanity.
I had heard on the radio that one of the pet stores in Chattanooga was having a pet adoption fair that Sunday afternoon, so I casually suggested we go after church and “have a look”. When we got there, most of the dogs they had were HUGE. I’m talking, big old wolf-hound looking dogs. I knew I didn’t want a puppy because I didn’t want to have to go through the “chewing stage” again. The last puppy we had chewed everything in the house, including the linoleum off of our bathroom floor. I am still not sure how he managed to pull it up in the first place to get his teeth on it. Anyway, I was about to walk out when I saw this sad looking black and white dog looking at me. He had his head down and the look in his eyes said, “I’m not going to get up and wag my tail at you because it wouldn’t do any good…nobody wants me.” I went over and put my fingers through the bars of his kennel and scratched his head. He licked my fingers and I knew he was our dog. We took him home, much to the boys’ delight. Ken just shook his head.
Now Ken had never liked the idea of having a dog in the house. In fact, when we were engaged, he tried to talk me into making my dog, Clarissa, into an outdoor dog. I told him that if he intended for me to live in the same house as him, then Clarissa would have to live there too. He didn’t like it, but I guess true love won out, because he relented and allowed her to live in the house. But he would absolutely NEVER allow her to get up on any of the furniture. I figured it would be the same with Dots. So you can imagine my surprise when I came in one day and found Dots curled up IN KEN’S LAP. That dog not only was a comfort and distraction for Jesse and Benjamin, he became a real comfort to Ken as well.
I think Dots knew that Ken was going to die. Toward the end, he stayed close to Ken wherever he went. The morning Ken died, I was on the foot of our bed (his hospital bed was pushed up against the end of the bed) holding his hand. Dots was laying beside me, watching Ken. The house was absolutely full of people. Usually Dots would have been having a fit, barking at everybody for invading his territory. But strangely, he just laid there beside me and never took his eyes off of Ken. Then, just as Ken was breathing his last labored breaths, Dots stood up and moaned. I believe he knew that Ken was leaving. It was the eeriest thing I’ve ever seen. In the weeks following Ken’s death, poor Dots would roam the house whining, looking for Ken. He would go from room to room and come look at me and whine, as if to say, “Where is he?” “I know, Buddy”, I would say, “I miss him too”. Then I would bury my face in Dots’ fur and we would cry together. Dots has been a comfort to all of us.
Hmmmm…I spent more time on Dots than I realized. I’ll talk about the other two next post.
If you had asked me before Ken died if I would ever have three dogs at the same time, I would have called you CRAZY! But here I sit, loving and taking care of three of the silliest dogs on God’s green earth.
Our oldest dog is “Dots”. He got that name from Jesse, who with the perfect logic of his Aspergian mind, took one look and said, “He has dots all over him. We should call him Dots.” He is, we think, a Rat Terrier, white with black spots (or black with white spots, depending on how you look at it). I say we think he is a rat terrier because he was a shelter rescue and we don’t really know for sure. He certainly looks like a rat terrier.
Dots is the only one of our pups that I actually went out purposely to adopt. It was several months after Ken had been diagnosed with cancer. I wanted something that would take the boys’ minds off of all of the grimness that comes when dealing with a terminal illness. When I told Ken I wanted to get them a dog, I don’t think he really thought I was serious. I don’t think he could imagine that I would want one more thing in that house that needed to be taken care of. Now that I think back on it, it was kind of nuts. I guess I can always plead temporary insanity.
I had heard on the radio that one of the pet stores in Chattanooga was having a pet adoption fair that Sunday afternoon, so I casually suggested we go after church and “have a look”. When we got there, most of the dogs they had were HUGE. I’m talking, big old wolf-hound looking dogs. I knew I didn’t want a puppy because I didn’t want to have to go through the “chewing stage” again. The last puppy we had chewed everything in the house, including the linoleum off of our bathroom floor. I am still not sure how he managed to pull it up in the first place to get his teeth on it. Anyway, I was about to walk out when I saw this sad looking black and white dog looking at me. He had his head down and the look in his eyes said, “I’m not going to get up and wag my tail at you because it wouldn’t do any good…nobody wants me.” I went over and put my fingers through the bars of his kennel and scratched his head. He licked my fingers and I knew he was our dog. We took him home, much to the boys’ delight. Ken just shook his head.
Now Ken had never liked the idea of having a dog in the house. In fact, when we were engaged, he tried to talk me into making my dog, Clarissa, into an outdoor dog. I told him that if he intended for me to live in the same house as him, then Clarissa would have to live there too. He didn’t like it, but I guess true love won out, because he relented and allowed her to live in the house. But he would absolutely NEVER allow her to get up on any of the furniture. I figured it would be the same with Dots. So you can imagine my surprise when I came in one day and found Dots curled up IN KEN’S LAP. That dog not only was a comfort and distraction for Jesse and Benjamin, he became a real comfort to Ken as well.
I think Dots knew that Ken was going to die. Toward the end, he stayed close to Ken wherever he went. The morning Ken died, I was on the foot of our bed (his hospital bed was pushed up against the end of the bed) holding his hand. Dots was laying beside me, watching Ken. The house was absolutely full of people. Usually Dots would have been having a fit, barking at everybody for invading his territory. But strangely, he just laid there beside me and never took his eyes off of Ken. Then, just as Ken was breathing his last labored breaths, Dots stood up and moaned. I believe he knew that Ken was leaving. It was the eeriest thing I’ve ever seen. In the weeks following Ken’s death, poor Dots would roam the house whining, looking for Ken. He would go from room to room and come look at me and whine, as if to say, “Where is he?” “I know, Buddy”, I would say, “I miss him too”. Then I would bury my face in Dots’ fur and we would cry together. Dots has been a comfort to all of us.
Hmmmm…I spent more time on Dots than I realized. I’ll talk about the other two next post.
Unplugged -- The Great TV-less Experiment
Well, I guess I should qualify that title a little bit. We are not TV-less. We still have TVs…very, very old ones that don’t work unless they are connected to some kind of cable or satellite dish. We are TV Programming-less. After months of contemplating it, I finally called and had them turn it off.
The last time I remember being programming-less was right after Ken and I moved into our second house, when we were expecting Jesse. Now, all those years later, for some reason, paying for programming was just not making so much sense anymore. Most of what we watched was junk. And a lot of it was the SAME old junk, over and over, and OVER! I mean, how many times do I need to see the same episodes of Law and Order or Forensic Files to know that they are always going to end the same way?! I think I had the TV on most of the time just for company—just for noise. But I live in a house with two teenagers and three dogs…there’s always noise!
The first several times I mentioned doing it, months and months ago, Jesse and Benjamin would sort of get that “deer-in-the-headlights” look, like they couldn’t believe I could really be serious. Then they got to where they would just roll their eyes at me, as if to say, “Sure, sure, sure…we know you won’t ever REALLY do it!”
Then about a month ago, the most amazing thing happened. The boys brought it up! They said how they thought we would be better off just having Netflix and watching whatever movies we chose to watch instead of watching the same old boring stuff! You could have knocked me over with a feather! I told them to think about it because in their entire lives, there has never been a time when we were programming-less. It would be a BIG change. I gave them about a week and we talked about it again. They were still saying, “Pull the plug!” So, that’s what I did. I called and got us set up with Netflix and we started choosing movies. So, instead of paying $80.00 a month for programming that we weren’t really watching, we’re paying only $20.00 a month and we get to choose what we want to watch. Saving money and having choices—sounds like a win-win situation to me.
The best part about the whole thing is that the boys, especially Benjamin, have been coming downstairs and actually watching movies WITH THEIR MAMA!!!! We are really spending more time together as a family. What a bonus!
So far, we have watched Karate Kid (the new one, with Will Smith’s son and Jackie Chan), which is a great movie; Shutter Island, which was good, but seeing Leonardo Dicaprio play middle-aged crazy sort of messed with my mind; Secretariat…really good family movie (btw…did you know the horse’s real name was Big Red? They only called him Secretariat because the racing commission required that all the horses have “unique” names.); and The Illusionist, which was good, but very predictable. I have passed on watching Jesse’s anime and Benjamin’s horror choices. All in all, I would have to say that so far, at least, “Lunsfords Unplugged” has been a good experience!
The last time I remember being programming-less was right after Ken and I moved into our second house, when we were expecting Jesse. Now, all those years later, for some reason, paying for programming was just not making so much sense anymore. Most of what we watched was junk. And a lot of it was the SAME old junk, over and over, and OVER! I mean, how many times do I need to see the same episodes of Law and Order or Forensic Files to know that they are always going to end the same way?! I think I had the TV on most of the time just for company—just for noise. But I live in a house with two teenagers and three dogs…there’s always noise!
The first several times I mentioned doing it, months and months ago, Jesse and Benjamin would sort of get that “deer-in-the-headlights” look, like they couldn’t believe I could really be serious. Then they got to where they would just roll their eyes at me, as if to say, “Sure, sure, sure…we know you won’t ever REALLY do it!”
Then about a month ago, the most amazing thing happened. The boys brought it up! They said how they thought we would be better off just having Netflix and watching whatever movies we chose to watch instead of watching the same old boring stuff! You could have knocked me over with a feather! I told them to think about it because in their entire lives, there has never been a time when we were programming-less. It would be a BIG change. I gave them about a week and we talked about it again. They were still saying, “Pull the plug!” So, that’s what I did. I called and got us set up with Netflix and we started choosing movies. So, instead of paying $80.00 a month for programming that we weren’t really watching, we’re paying only $20.00 a month and we get to choose what we want to watch. Saving money and having choices—sounds like a win-win situation to me.
The best part about the whole thing is that the boys, especially Benjamin, have been coming downstairs and actually watching movies WITH THEIR MAMA!!!! We are really spending more time together as a family. What a bonus!
So far, we have watched Karate Kid (the new one, with Will Smith’s son and Jackie Chan), which is a great movie; Shutter Island, which was good, but seeing Leonardo Dicaprio play middle-aged crazy sort of messed with my mind; Secretariat…really good family movie (btw…did you know the horse’s real name was Big Red? They only called him Secretariat because the racing commission required that all the horses have “unique” names.); and The Illusionist, which was good, but very predictable. I have passed on watching Jesse’s anime and Benjamin’s horror choices. All in all, I would have to say that so far, at least, “Lunsfords Unplugged” has been a good experience!
Back Again
Recently I have felt the urge to blog again. I know I said that I would end once I finished the story of Ken’s illness and death…and I did…for a while. But now, for some unknown reason, it feels like I should continue.
I had the blog made into a book. I titled it Through Shadow Into Light. Ordered copies for Jesse and Benjamin, plus a couple to share. Strangely, though, the “sharing” copies haven’t been used much. It seems that not many people are interested in reading it. “Too sad”, is the reason I hear most. And, yes, it IS sad. But it is also sweet and touching and I think it could help people understand how a terminal illness like that can affect a family.
I wonder why people are so afraid of being sad. It is like they will do whatever they can just to make sure they can avoid tears and keep smiling. If they encounter someone who is sad, they feel they are duty-bound to try and cheer that person up. But sometimes, being sad is the most appropriate thing a person can do in a given situation. And (believe it, or not) IT IS OKAY TO BE SAD SOMETIMES!!! I was watching a Christmas movie on TV in December, and one of the characters made the statement, “Sometimes you just need to sit still and be sad.” I totally agree. But I realize that my sadness makes most people very uncomfortable. So, I determine which ones it bothers and adjust my attitude and discussions accordingly. I think it’s that way for most grieving people. They feel like they have to cover up their feelings at times for the comfort of others.
Anyway, I thought that maybe I should just start a new blog and give it another name to keep it separate from the first story. But, I’m still “Sammi”, and it is still going to consist of things I say, so I guess it will stay “Sammi Says”. For the ones of you who don’t know the story, Sammi is a family nickname I gave myself when I was little. It seems everybody thought I sounded so cute when I said my name, that they would ask me what my name was over, and over, and OVER. Mama says one day I had evidently had enough of it, because when the next person asked, “What’s your name?” I looked them dead in the eye and said, “Sam”. I’ve been Sammi ever since.
I had the blog made into a book. I titled it Through Shadow Into Light. Ordered copies for Jesse and Benjamin, plus a couple to share. Strangely, though, the “sharing” copies haven’t been used much. It seems that not many people are interested in reading it. “Too sad”, is the reason I hear most. And, yes, it IS sad. But it is also sweet and touching and I think it could help people understand how a terminal illness like that can affect a family.
I wonder why people are so afraid of being sad. It is like they will do whatever they can just to make sure they can avoid tears and keep smiling. If they encounter someone who is sad, they feel they are duty-bound to try and cheer that person up. But sometimes, being sad is the most appropriate thing a person can do in a given situation. And (believe it, or not) IT IS OKAY TO BE SAD SOMETIMES!!! I was watching a Christmas movie on TV in December, and one of the characters made the statement, “Sometimes you just need to sit still and be sad.” I totally agree. But I realize that my sadness makes most people very uncomfortable. So, I determine which ones it bothers and adjust my attitude and discussions accordingly. I think it’s that way for most grieving people. They feel like they have to cover up their feelings at times for the comfort of others.
Anyway, I thought that maybe I should just start a new blog and give it another name to keep it separate from the first story. But, I’m still “Sammi”, and it is still going to consist of things I say, so I guess it will stay “Sammi Says”. For the ones of you who don’t know the story, Sammi is a family nickname I gave myself when I was little. It seems everybody thought I sounded so cute when I said my name, that they would ask me what my name was over, and over, and OVER. Mama says one day I had evidently had enough of it, because when the next person asked, “What’s your name?” I looked them dead in the eye and said, “Sam”. I’ve been Sammi ever since.
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