Father's day, summer and stories told to a daughter

The most memorable images that I have of my father include summer days, good food, and hearty laughter. Yet, not all my memories of my Dad are happy. There are always unpleasant memories that want to mix themselves up with the good ones. That is just the way minds work. You are enjoying a great memory, and the next thing you know, an unpleasant memory comes slithering in the backdoor, trying to take over your mind. Just like the serpent does in the Adam and Eve story in the bible.  In the garden, everything was rolling along great. Then suddenly in slithered the serpent, and with him, chaos and evil.  Like the best memories that recycle back through your mind,  
God recycled His goodness, love, and triumph over evil again into this world. 

Like all of us, my Dad was human. 

Dad lost his temper. Dad was the one who passed out the whippings with his belt when he thought we deserved it. Although there was always a lot of discussion between us on whether I really deserved the whooping and I would desperately try to convince Dad that one of my two brothers committed the belt worthy infraction. 
In the end, love and goodness always recycled back in. Truth prevailed, and justice was served with the compassionate heart of a loving father.

 In the summer, when we returned home from a full day at the beach, we would have an outside dinner. Most people would call this a cookout. Our meal would consist of corn on the cob, California hamburgers, and my mother's famous potato salad. There are two things that I didn't understand at these meals. The first thing was that I didn't know if my mother's Potato salad was genuinely famous, but my father talked about it as if it was the best, world-renowned potato salad and why did we eat California Hamburgers if we lived in New Jersey? Those were my mysteries of life at that time.

My father talked about a lot of things. Dad talked about his family, his work, the Vietnam War, and lots of other things that didn't mean much to me because I was young. I would sit at the table with my two brothers and my mother as we listened to my father tell stories about a magical dog named Longfellow.  In my mind, I pictured Longfellow as a little black and brown dachshund with a wagging tail.  That pup that sprung up from my father's imagination loved to eat the cobs from the corn that was left over after my family had nibbled all of the kernels of sweet Jersey corn off of the cobs.      Even at the age of 18, I was still fascinated with my father's silly stories.   Finally, in the last story, my father told me about sweet Longfellow, the long brown and black dog that ate corn cobs died.  The little dog tragically Choked on a corncob.  At some point, my father's stories ended, and so did the laughter at the table. Maybe my father thought that at eighteen years old, I had outgrown his stories about Longfellow.  Sitting at my desk this father's day, I wish I could hear just one more Longfellow story. So love could recycle back. I would listen carefully to everything my father talked about if I could. Miss you, Dad.

Christmas Memories on a June morning.

As I write, I pause and glance out my window.  I can see branches that are full of green leaves. I watch as they sway from side to side in the wind.  It is another cloudy day with a chance of heavy rain excepted later in the afternoon. The forecast is that the temperature will only reach in the mid-fifties.  This weather is unusual for early June in North Carolina. Here temperatures usually reach into the eighties at this time of year. But today the clouds stay in place, hovering above.  The winds are gusting. The lack of sunshine and the cooler temperatures remind me of growing up in New Jersey. Today feels like it might have felt if I was in New Jersey on a late fall November afternoon.  In New Jersey, It would be the type of day that you would avoid venturing out. But, over time, the fall rainy days cease, the sun returns, and the air becomes cold and crisp. We bundle up and with hats, and mittens, venturing out again as we prepare for Christmas.  
As I reflect on the cooler air this June day in North Carolina, my thoughts drift to a time when I was young. Memories swirl in my mind as I reminisce about those New Jersey late fall days and the seasons that followed. Winter and Christmas come to mind, and a pleasant memory emerges. 
I was nine years old. My cousin Bambi and I were given permission to Christmas shop on our own for the first time. It was a privilege, and It made me feel like a grown-up.  Bambi, who is three days my senior and I would be allowed to ride the bus to Asbury Park. That was where everyone from our small community did their shopping.  That shopping adventure and my first solo bus ride would mark a milestone in growing up. 
 That day came and on one cold December afternoon. Bambi and I  waited on the corner of 13th Avenue and Main Street for the bus that travels from Belmar to Asbury Park  I remember gazing out the bus's window looking at all the storefronts in the towns we passed through. In Belmar, We passed Schotoz's five and dime, the movie theater, the post office, and the big bank building on the corner.  All of those buildings familiar because they were the places that my grandmother and I would walk to when I stayed at her house.  The bus continued on through Belmar, to  Bradley Beach, Avon by the Sea, and Ocean Grove. The excitement of our adventure soon turned to nervousness as the streets and storefronts became less familiar. The eight-minute trip to Asbury Park began to feel like we had been on the bus for hours. Suddenly, Bambi and I could see the decorated windows of Steinbach's department store on the corner of Cookman Avenue.  The bus door opened, and we hopped down the big bus steps.
There Bambi and I stood in front of the store with the best magical Christmas display in town.  That year's animated Christmas display. Featured Rudolf, whose head and legs moved to the tune of Here Comes Santa Claus. Bursting with excitement, I looked in awe at Santa's sleigh, which was overflowing with brightly colored and perfectly wrapped gifts. I secretly wondered if one of those gifts might have my name on it. Quickly  I tried to think back through the past year to determine if there was any indiscretion that I might have to atone for before Christmas. Setting the question aside, Bambi and I shopped all afternoon amid the never-ending Christmas decorations.  Using money that I had saved throughout the year and the little extra my mother gave me, I bought the best gifts that I could find. I bought perfume for my mother, a tie for my dad and balsa wood airplanes for my brothers and I finished my shopping with the selection of a warm scarf that I choose for my a scarf for my grandmother. When we were done with our purchases, Bambi and I went across the street to the soda fountain. I ordered a chocolate Ice cream soda, and Bambi ordered french fries, we shared our treats then quickly and rushed back to the bus stop. I was frightened that we might have missed the bus, and the sun was beginning to go down. Shortly the bus arrived at the stop across from Steinback's Department store on Cookman Avenue in Asbury Park New Jersey on that cold, crisp day.  It was a trip that I will always remember, especially on a chilly June day in North Carolina.

Catching fireflies

   

Do you remember chasing fireflies on a warm summer evening?  I remember the thrill and the excitement I felt as a child as I ran through the back yards of our neighborhood. The sun was setting and the moon was rising. The smell of lilacs floated in the air. We had dirty summer bare feet. full of dust and dried mud. No one cared that our feet became dirty as we walked barefooted down the dirt road where we lived called Locust Court. We visited our neighbors on sweltering summer afternoons to drink lemonade, chat and say hello. We were young, tanned, and sweaty. All the joys of summer were ahead of us and were ours to explore.

IN June after school let out for the summer, the fireflies would appear. Slowly at first, we would see them one or two at a time. Their numbers increasing with each passing minute.

It was the beginning of summer when the sky was full of twinkling lights from the bright stars above and the magical fireflies began to rise from the ground. that I, my brothers, and our friends would run in pursuit of those mysterious flashes of light.  We would gently scoop up those magical creatures with our bare hands and carefully place the insects in a glass jar with holes punched into the lid for air. The jars were lovingly prefilled with blades of grass a twig or two and a piece of moist paper towel.  We believed that these items would ensure our little friends' survival until they arrived at the place where they paid children one dollar for one thousand fire sometimes we would catch fireflies in mid-flight then bragging to our friends of our bug catching skills. If one was quick-footed you could carefully pick the winged creatures out of the freshly mowed summer grass where they landed, before they took to flight again. We would run, chase, and collect fireflies until we heard the welcoming song of the ice cream man's truck. We would wait in line to choose our favorite frozen treat. I would order a sky blue pink ice pop. Although there was no such treat by that name the man in truck aways knew what I wanted. I sat with my friends in the cool grass until we were called by our parents to come home for a bath and bedtime. But until then the running catching and counting of fireflies continued. We would call out to each other after each successful capture adding to our count ten, fifteen. twenty, and so on.   Hoping each night that we would reach elusive the goal of one thousand captured fireflies. Why one thousand you might ask.  One thousand is the number of fireflies that must be caught in order to send them to the people that would pay kids one dollar for fireflies.  

We never reached that elusive goal of one thousand fireflies in that jar. Each night a parent would take pity on the poor insects and grant them their freedom. Each morning we would be told the magical creatures escaped and the chasing and counting would begin again when the sun set and the moon rose. We never received the one dollar in the mail which was a small fortune to children who bought ice cream from a truck. We did not even realize or care that dividing .that one dollar by fourteen would have resulted in each child getting a whopping seven cents.

As I look back and remember those hot summer nights, I realize we never received that treasured one dollar in the mail from the people who pay children for one thousand fireflies. But the priceless treasure of lasting friendships, the joy of having hope in a future gift, and the fullness and pleasure of the simple things in life. Are the priceless gift we received in return for a few fireflies. During this time as many of us are staying home, we can try to catch one thousand fireflies. If you do put them in a jar and mail them to the people who pay one dollar.

Wheelchair shaming is real

Even though I am not a young person, I have experienced Wheelchair shaming.

Borrowed/reposted from Cressida M.R. Hale

We Need More Awareness of Ambulatory Wheelchair Users

Cressida M.R Hale 

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November 25, 2018

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As science and medicine continue to evolve over time, hammer-wielding advocates and a new generation, devoted to both awareness and education, shatter outdated stereotypes. However, there’s still a battle for awareness about ambulatory wheelchair use. The term refers to individuals who are disabled and use wheelchairs but are capable of walking in some circumstances. I am one of these individuals.

There are many reasons why a person may be an ambulatory wheelchair user. My own reason is my debilitating fatigue, unsteady, injury-prone joints, and syncope (or fainting). Other reasons may include lower-body injuries, joint pain, or unsteadiness. The list continues on because mobility aids are not just for geriatric and paraplegic use. Mobility aids provide people of all ages and illnesses with a sense of freedom.

Medicine continues to advance and is beginning to recognize both invisible and chronic illnesses among the younger generations. In fact, young people account for the majority of mobility aid users. Yet the harmful and outdated stereotypes surrounding wheelchair use often get used as a public weapon against young individuals, especially those whose disabilities may not be visible. Many ambulatory wheelchair users report harassment and discrimination simply because the public is unaware of ambulatory wheelchair use.

In my experience, there is nothing more humiliating and frustrating than needing to explain your physical health to someone who is judging you for needing a mobility aid. We do not require able-bodied individuals to disclose personal information to strangers, yet we demand this of ambulatory wheelchair users simply because they don’t fit a stereotype. Here are some of the common myths and comments we face, followed by my responses.

“You’re taking away from the people who really need it.” Just because we can walk doesn’t mean we don’t need mobility aids. Our lives would be a whole lot simpler if we did not need these aids in the first place. Also, it’s not like there is a wheelchair shortage.

“You don’t look paralyzed.” Well, you don’t look like a doctor. We generally consider judging someone by their appearance to be impolite. Judging someone’s health by their appearance is a guaranteed way to make a fool of yourself. Unless you have been to medical school and you are my physician, please keep your assumptions to yourself.

“You’re too young to need a wheelchair.” People commonly say this, and it makes very little sense. If I were to say, “You look too old to be standing on your own two feet,” that would be considered rude, so why is it OK for you to say it to us?

It’s time to destroy the stereotypes we associate with disabilities and wheelchair users. We just want the same independence everyone else enjoys.

If someone were to ask

If someone were to ask me why I was crying today I would tell them that there are some days that feel unbearable. Some days it can be overwhelming to  remember the losses in my life. 

I Cry because I went outside today  to enjoy this beautiful day but instead all I could do was remember how my home at one time was a place of beauty and joy in my life.  It used to be beautiful I used to take good care of it.  Today I feel helpless to do so. The bushes are overgrown there's weeds where there should be flowers and there is little I can do about it. It reminds me that I lost my ability to function in this world in a way that allows me to do the things that I love. There are dead plants and weeds where there should be life sprouting up from the ground. That is why I cried today. It has been eight long years since the stroke on March 29th 2009. Everyday I pray that God give me the strength to not cry. I pray to God that he will help me to see a Little bit of Beauty in my world that grows smaller every day.  One of the  saddest thing is that there is no one around to ask  why I am crying.

Two years and counting

This story is about what I and others did wrong. on the night, my life changed forever.

It has been twelve years since I had a stroke. As I sit here and reflect back, I will never forget the night of the stroke. I clearly remember being in the hospital emergency room and waiting for hours. Every time, the triage nurse would come into the waiting room and call out a name. For hours I watched as people with colds, sore throats, and various other minor ailments were called in to be seen by the doctors. My blood pressure was over 200, but I sat for  4 hours silently waiting for a doctor to examine me. My second mistake. Don't be afraid to ask for what you need.

In my gut, I knew that something was very wrong. My vision was messed up. Part of my vision was missing. The pain in my head felt like my skull was going to crack.  Looking back, I now know that I should have trusted my gut. I wish I had kept communicating with the staff and been more insistent about being seen. That day my life changed forever. As a result, I am now permanently blind in areas of my field of vision. I had no awareness of my left side, and my left side switched from being hyper-sensitive to almost no feeling. My left side is partially paralyzed.  My left leg has drop foot and over-pronation. In other words, I am screwed up!

This story is about what I and others did wrong. on the night, my life changed forever.

I had called my doctor, who told me to go straight to the ER.  I went right away. But unfortunately, I asked my husband to drive me there. I thought that it was not very far from my home. We could get to the hospital quickly. Because I had worked in the ER as a Chaplin and a patient rep. I should have known that it can be a long wait if you don't arrive by ambulance. I did not expect special treatment, but I was hoping I would be seen immediately. I worked at this hospital as a Chaplin and patient rep, but apparently, I got no special treatment. So we waited, my head pounding and my husband complaining to me that he was tired. He knew he had to go to work the next day at 6 AM. It was now one in the morning.  Because of my position at the hospital, I sat quietly and didn't make any waves.  Although I was learning why the many people I saw as a Chaplin were miserable.  Not only were those patients sick and worried. But they must have felt overlooked by the hospital staff. I know that was how I was feeling that night. Silent, scared, confused, and unaware that my brain was slowly dying. 

.And going through rehabilitation. But what I remember the most was my determination to get better. I spent 60 days away from home between my hospital stay and time at the rehabilitation center. I wondered if I might never see my home again. But mother's day weekend, I was released For the day. As  I returned home and walked into my house, I noticed that my Christmas tree was still up in the living room. What a wonderful greeting it gave me. I could not have asked for a more joyous homecoming. My husband was there, and my Little dog and my Christmas tree somehow reminded me that the spirit of God was with me.

The following days were hard. Becoming adjusted to my new routine. I needed to transition from having everything done for me at the hospital to function on my own. My husband would have to work every day to pay the bills. We had our concerns, would I be able to dress? Would I be able to shower myself? Would I be able to feed myself? What would I  do alone all day? It was the beginning of my new adventure. And I had no idea how it would work out. In those early days, having just finished working with the physical therapists, I was full of confidence. But then the crash happened. I was attempting to, or should I say, show off by trying to go up the back steps without a Railing when I lost my footing and fell. I landed face down on the patio and ended up with a broken nose. With that fractured nose, my confidence shattered.

I was hesitant to even attempt to do anything on my own. Yet somehow, three months later, I began working on my doctorate in Pastoral counseling. I remember clearly the first day in class. I asked that I be provided with a wheelchair. I was still terrified of being alone in a strange place. I was afraid that I would fall and get hurt and worried that  I did not have the strength to walk on my two legs all day. I wanted the safety and the security of being in a wheelchair. I knew I could not fall sitting in my wheelchair. So that first day in class, I used one of the hospital's wheelchairs. That was a long time ago. It is now a little over two years later. I Continue to go to that same building several times a week. But after that first day never sat in a wheelchair again. I made a choice to walk, and I have been walking ever since.
     Now each day, I walk around my house, in the store, and I receive my clients at the Pastoral care offices and Lead them back from the waiting room to the counseling office.
 I can remember a song Whose words go something like this," The road is long with many a winding turn that Leads  me to who knows where?" That's how I felt. I was on this long road winding around and around, and I was not sure where I would end up. I just knew I had to keep traveling because I was not where I felt I should be. I did not know where I was going or how to get there; I just knew I needed to go forward. My damaged brain and my body needed to begin the process of healing. And with God's help, my incredible journey begins. I'd like to hear about your fantastic journey post Your comments on this page. How have you been guided on your fantastic journey? What has your journey been like?

Jealousy and envy

I know it has been a long time since my last post. I have had neither the time nor the mental energy to write one. But as I was reading an email from a pastor That  I know I could feel jealousy and envy bubbling up inside me. You see I realized this morning,What it isAbout to me That is Different.   inside my head there is Part of me  different From what it was before I had the stroke.  I find I Experience  my brain as it functions today but, I also have my memories of my brain and how it used to function Before the stroke . Some days it's hard to accept what is, and let go of what what was . And then there is my heart that feels envy And  painful jealousy when I see or hear of others doing the things that I had at one time planned to do. For example A woman who I once knew is now preaching on a regular basis at area churches. There was a day and when I planned to preach to others on Sunday mornings and my jealous heart rages with anger when I hear of my friend preaching as I sit wondering if I'll ever be able to preach successfully again. You see inside my head are memories of how to preach but also is the reality of where I am now. Do I take the chance do I risk writing a sermon and preaching? Or,Will I  act like a turtle and stick my neck out in in order to move forward? Or do I just let the anger, the jealousy and the envy that I feel burnaway my heart? It seems to me either way is a risk But yet that's what life is all about taking risks from time to time . so today I will gather up my strength, my courage and I will begin to write. I will  start out small possibly just preaching to a local nursing home or small group and as I learn and grow and teach my new brain how to do the things I want to do, life will improve. I won't let envy and jealousy burn in my heart Destroying my new life. When I had my stroke God spoke to me in a verse. The verse came from the book of john chapter 10 verse 10 I paraphrase here,
Jesus said I have come so that you may have life and life in abundance. Jesus is offering us/me a choice. Do I/we just give up or do I/we seek out the abundant life that we are promised? We must all make a choice for me it is which side of my brain will I used today the jealous envious side that remembers how life was or the learning healing part of my brain that chooses to seek out my promised abundant life.