July 26, 2010 @ 6:17 am | Filed under: Family,It's a Girl Thing,Pure Sunshine
My heart is full.
I am fresh off of our girls-only weekend and it was all I had hoped for, and more!
We met on Thursday afternoon, drove to San Marcos, and spent the next twelve or so hours shopping the outlet malls. Of course – we also made time for an awesome dinner, breakfast with Jordan and Elizabeth, and lots of bonding time in the hotel room.
Then “Phase II: San Antonio!” We loaded all our luggage and our San Marcos purchases and headed further south…to San Antonio, where we checked into the Hyatt on the Riverwalk. The littles swam “on the roof”, while we talked and laughed and – honestly – just enjoyed the fact that we’re family.
And what a great family…what a great group of ladies.
Shawn:
Shawn is the eldest of the six grandchildren – but only by three months. She was always my partner in crime during our growing up years and I have nothing but fond memories. Even though we spent a LOT of time in trouble! Shawn is also the one who stood with me in front of the mulberry bush in Mama & Dad’s yard on Dudley St. and belted out Delta Dawn as only two ten year olds can.
Shawn is married to David, and they have two beautifulful daughters – Brittani and Ashleigh. Brittani joined us for the first time on this trip and it was amazing for me to get to know her as a young adult. She is almost twenty and will be married in December. Getting to know her, and seeing her vibrant personality and the deep care she has for her family, made it evident what an awesome mom Shawn is.
Sharlyn:
Sharlyn is married to Chad and they have three amazing daughters. Twins – Brooklyn & Kennedy, and Macy.
What I admire most about Sharlyn is her ability to drink in life, but in the most calm, most serene way imaginable. When you are around her, you feel nothing but tranquility, and this quality shines through her daughters.
This was Kennedy’s turn to join the group for the annual girls weekend and I had a blast getting to know this little beauty a lot better! She is a jewel and a little mini-me of her beautiful mom.
Stefanie:
I have several stunning pictures of Stefanie and her family and I started to use one of those.
But the truth is that this picture of Stefanie’s family is a brilliant representation of the essence of Stefanie.
She is the heart of the party. I love this girl to pieces. She loves life and watching her enjoy it just makes you want to dive in and do the same!
Stefanie is married to Brian. They have three gorgeous children: Shaggy, Daphne, and Scooby. Oh wait…! Make that Braxton, Makynah, and Brayden!
These women shared my childhood in ways that will be known to only us. We made countless memories together, and those memories will forever be a part of the landscape of my life.
But this weekend – and each one like it that we spend together as adults – we make new memories.
And now…
These memories are the ones that will also be a part of our children’s lives.
I like that.
And I love them!
Family, grandchildren, summertime memories
July 15, 2010 @ 6:09 am | Filed under: Family,Uniquely Me
Things have felt a bit surreal these past few days.
I’m barely typing the first words of this post and already crying long-awaited restrained tears…exhaustion and love and grief and all that is to come…and family.
I have reached an emotional crescendo like the summit of a mountain, and I am sitting here, trying to let it all soak in, and feel completely inept at putting it into words.
Mom opened Mama’s cedar chest a few days ago and found – literally – a treasure chest of richness.
Scrapbooks!!
Book after book after book, filled with photos, with news clippings, with ribbons, and awards. I take a lot of teasing for my scrapbooking tendencies…but evidently I come by it naturally.
If it could be scrapbooked – Mama captured it and put it one of her books.
We sat on the floor of the closet in the back bedroom – my Mom and I – and flipped through the books. There were books devoted to Mom, books focused on Uncle Ralph, a scrapbook on World War II, and even an Elvis book. (You’d have to have known Mama to truly appreciate this one.)
For now my house is calm. And quiet, except for the whir of the air conditioner and the dryer tossing a load of towels. After a tumultuous few days I am beginning to feel healed by the immersion of what matters most to me these past several days.
Family.
And, oh, how my heart puddles at the sight of my loved ones lovin’ on each other. We don’t get opportunities like these much because we live so far away from one another and the get-togethers are few and far between. But these past days, here they are, scooping up this time – as inconvenient and as painful as it has been – and they are embracing the important.
Each other.
We are Mama and Dad’s family. Their living, breathing scrapbook.
We love one another with passion and purpose, and these days and these moments will go down in the scrapbooks of our minds and hearts.
How many times I’ve wanted lately to reach out and grab the reigns to our ever-changing, busy lives and just yank hard. Pull back with everything I have and slow things down until I feel I have control.
But that’s impossible and – if you think about it – bridled, trained life is just boring compared to the wild exhileration of just plain ‘ol living.
The only predictable thing about life is its unpredictability. It’s unbridled and wild and beautiful. …and that’s our life right now.
Family, grandchildren, memories
July 8, 2010 @ 6:18 am | Filed under: Family,Motherhood,Pure Sunshine
“Did I show you what I found?”
I paused what I was doing and looked up at my dad’s words. I shook my head. “No. I don’t guess so…”
To be honest, though, it was hard to remember just what we’d said, done, or found in the last two or three days. The hours had begun to run together and everything that had transpired over the past 24 seemed like one big blur.
The last few days have been such a snowballing of emotions and contemplations, and yet I know that as a family we’ll soon find a way to settle into a contented place of so-be-it. Life flows on, and I know it’s important to experience every tide, every wave, every calm with purpose.
My dad returned to the room and held out a small 3×5 black & white photo. I took it from him, glanced at it, and then gasped. “Oh my word! Do you know who this looks like?”
The boy in the photo – with the laughing eyes and the tiny, yet unmistakable smirk – was none other than the 21 year old version of my grandfather. But in that one small photo I saw something for the first time…something I’d not seen before…
It was a little bit of delight in an otherwise somber day.
The day had already been a tremendously long one. It had started around 3:30 AM as family members began receiving the phone call that “Dad” had passed away peacefully in his sleep. And although we’d known to expect it – and probably sooner rather than later – the finality of death is always piercing to the soul.
And that is what we were feeling now: the piercing, that ache deep within that longs only to pull him back – if for only one brief moment to…
To do what? To say what?
The truth is that we’d been careful to do it all, to say all that needed to be said, and to give all the hugs we could possibly squeeze in. To bring him back – even for the briefest second would be pure selfishness, and I don’t want to be guilty of that.
So as I sat on the sofa yesterday, holding that tiny 3×5 photo of my grandfather, I could not for the life of me keep the smile from creasing my face. It was like a gift, something I had never seen before…
For I was looking into a face with the same features as my own 21 year old son Jordan, and the realization made my throat tighten with emotion.
It was in that brief instant that I was reminded yet again that one of the great wonders of family is that bit and pieces of the ones we love are transferred on to the future generations for us to continue to love and cherish and enjoy.
They are little bits of delight to provide balm for a grieving heart.
Even though one generation of our family is now gone from this earth, they will never be far away in our thoughts and forever close in our hearts.
And in those moments when we miss them most, we can look back on moments like this one, or remember with laughter this day, and – most especially – recall the day we set out to make precious memories.
It won’t make the pain of missing them instantly go away.
But it will provide little bits of delight while we learn how to live in a world without them.
July 7, 2010 @ 5:37 am | Filed under: Family
Clois Glen Shiflet
September 17, 1923 – July 06, 2010
June 29, 2010 @ 9:28 am | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine,Uniquely Me
Eight years ago today I became a Nana, and it’s all due to this amazing, talented, beautiful boy that I am privileged enough to call my grandson.
When I married an older man I embraced his life as well. The term “step-mom” has always felt a bit awkward to me considering that Amy has the most amazing mom and has no need for another, step or otherwise.
Instead I’ve tried to be the best friend and confidante that I can be and the relationship we’ve cultivated over the past decade is one of deep trust and sound friendship. I treasure my place in this family.
The day Carter was born eight years ago was one of the most special days ever. To watch the man I love watch his daughter become a mother for the first time was simply magical.
I may have had friends to laugh and question how I felt about becoming a grandparent at the crazy age of 34, but the day Carter uttered “Nana” for the first time I’m pretty sure my heart did a complete cartwheel. Something it’s continued to do through the years as he’s grown.
There will be other grandchildren…but forever and always Carter B will be the first to have dubbed me Nana – a title I bear with pride and joy!
I cherish the times we’ve spent just being together, like this one. And when Carter B shares a bit of his thoughts with me…well, I melt completely. He has my heart. I appreciate how our family just works.
So this morning this proud Nana is sending out a great big “Happy Birthday!” to our grandson! We love you, Buddy!
June 21, 2010 @ 7:18 am | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine
“You can’t teach genetics. But you can overcome genetics. I know, because that’s what I did.” ~ Kevin Rogers, 2010
Whoever first coined the old adage: “Family. You can’t live with them, you can’t live without them” must surely have known what it means to be smack-dab in the middle of a group of folks that are capable of making you feel virtually every emotion known to man, times 10.
It means that maybe while we shouldn’t live always within the exact same four walls as them, we should most definitely surround ourselves as often as possible with these people who have our back through thick and thin. We laugh, cry, remember, laugh some more, accuse, apologize, laugh even more, tease, tease, tease, and – LAUGH.
My brother is full of dead-panned one-liners that make me laugh out loud. His sentences are almost always deeply philosophical. So much so that if you didn’t know him you’d be leaning back in your chair trying desperately to make sense of this long string of words that just slipped from his lips.
And Jordan wonders why I so often slip and call him “Kevin…” It’s because his words, his antics, his mannerisms transport me back a few years and it’s conversation and time around my brother all over again. I see glimpses of my childhood in my son and it fills me with wonder at this miracle of family.
It is the sporadic and unexpected spurts of laughter when the conversation turns to Johnny James. We share the awe we feel in the presence of a man so brilliant that he can walk to the podium, speak for 45 minutes on the dot without the use of a watch, can quote the entire Bible, and – in the midst of it all – leave us with an impromptu English lesson as only a truly great grammarian can.
“Grammaria?” My brother pipes up in the middle of my dad’s JJ description. “Is that near Ethiopia? Do you need your passport to go there?”
Laughter.
It’s that deep, gut-wrenching hiccup that grabs you around your middle and makes the faces around you light up, tears to puddle in your own eyes, and holds your heart in its tight, joyous, amazing grasp while you savor it all, drinking it in with a great. big. sense of wonder.
It’s the bubble of uncontrolled mirth that grabs you again after you’re in bed at night. It’s the glee your heart feels as your mind replays the day and the words of your two-year-old niece – like her daddy in so many, many ways – that have you and your husband wiping your eyes in the dark from the sheer deliciousness of shared laughter.
My mom gifted each of the men with Polo Black for Father’s Day. Now – in moderate applications – I’m a fan of Polo Black. But when all three of men open their brand new bottles and apply a squirt or two, joking all the while that we now have a “family fragrance,” it can become a bit, well…fragrant.
So when two-year-old Andi walks into the room, sidles up to her grandfather, and honestly declares, “You stink!” it’s a moment that sticks with you. It’s one of those delightful little pockets of time that we tuck away for days when we’ll all need a moment of levity. A moment to pause, remember, and know.
Know that through it all we are family.
Family.
They are the ones who share our past, our middle, and – if we’re very fortunate – our futures. They’re in it for the long haul – no questions asked. There is no other place on the planet that offers that kind of security. No wonder family is God’s great gift to His children. It is a wonderful thing.
It is, after all, where you learn about gentetics, grammarians, and other stinky stuff!
Family, Father's Day, laughter
May 29, 2010 @ 8:26 am | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine,Soul Food
Sometimes the things that are left unsaid are every bit as poignant as the things we voice.
It seems as though each time we gather together these days there are silent reminders that we are all participating in something larger, grander, and more heroic than mere words can capture.
Summer is beginning to unravel with all its color and splendor.
We’re making memories – my family and I – breathing in each and every golden moment as it filters through the air around us, and then cradling it close in our hearts. I love these people.
We’ll have these slivers of moments in the difficult months that are sure to come.
Moments when the pain of loss robs us of a good night’s sleep. Moments when there is one less place set at the family dinners. Moments when the landscape of our family is physically altered.
Because in our hearts we’ll always have today.
And today was good.
It was really, really good.
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| This photo album generated with Smilebox |
May 10, 2010 @ 6:34 am | Filed under: Family,Motherhood,Pure Sunshine
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| This free digital collage created with Smilebox |
I realized something last night as I crawled between the sheets and settled down for the night.
I had spent the last couple of hours in the kitchen, planning, cooking, anticipating our Mother’s Day lunch as a family. Robyn’s dad and sister are in town, my mother-in-law is with us, and the day ahead promises to be one full of laughter and great family moments.
It’s been on my mind for the last few weeks that this would be the first Mother’s Day for my mom to ever spend without her mother. I know there is absolutely nothing and no one that can replace Mama; nor would we dare to try. Mama had a personality that was larger than life and this was one day where we would especially miss her presence.
But as I worked in the kitchen last night I was running a mental list of every one that would be at my parents’ the next day for lunch. It wasn’t until later, when I was in bed, that it hit me.
Out of the twelve people who would gather around the table, the only ones still blessed to have their mom are me, Mike, our boys, and my brother. My heart ached for everyone else…for my sister-in-law and her sister, who lost their mom way too young. For my mom, facing the first Mother’s Day as the true matriarch of our family.
The day was a blessed one, full and loud and happy. Little girl giggles, warm hugs, new baby cuddles, animated conversation, and late afternoon mugs of coffee…
And even though we were missing the heartbeats of some very loved mothers, one thing was was felt by all.
The mothering heart.
It is the heart that we share as a family.
And it will always go on.
three generations
September 23, 2009 @ 6:22 am | Filed under: Family,Uniquely Me
So here’s the deal.
I had to write a food memoir for the Advanced Non-Fiction writing class I’m taking. As a self-proclaimed, card-carrying, exuberant foodie, there were about a zillion-and-one things that immediately popped into my head after receiving this assignment.
Long, laughter-filled dinner parties with friends, the way mom always made spaghetti and cherry pie for me on each and every birthday, Deviled eggs at Easter, patterning my own meatloaf recipe after my grandmother’s (secret ingredient is brown sugar!)
I could go on and on…
The long and short of it is that food is more than just an energy source. Mealtimes are a bonding experience and whether it’s as a family or amongst friends, a good meal paired with laughter and sharing is just about as good as it gets.
Maybe that’s why I have such a passion for cooking for those I love…
Maybe that’s why I want to run a B&B one day and have my guests return home with a happy tummy, happy heart, happy memories…
And because I am writing this post instead of doing homework, I am totally digressing…and let’s face it, folks, the homework’s not doing itself.
The following is the food memoir I finally decided on. This memory holds a special place all its own in my heart. I love how its the smallest moments, filled with the most insignificant of things, that are what we remember with the most clarity from our childhood.
Plus, I know that Kevin and our respective spouses will totally get a kick outta this one!
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The mid-summer Texas afternoon was near perfect: cloudless blue sky, sprawling green lawns, and all up and down Bayshore Drive, the squeals and laughter of neighborhood kids as we ran with abandon through whirling water sprinklers. The morning lay like a long, winding ribbon behind us, lazy yet loud, and we didn’t know any better than to expect the hours until dusk to be exactly the same. Then and only then, when mothers, one by one, would stand on front porches and call loudly for their respective kids, would we begrudgingly turn for home. Turning to yell an occasional promise of “Tomorrow! We’ll do it again tomorrow!” to our friends, we’d trudge home with bare, dirty feet, smudged grins, and a tummy rolling with hunger. This was a scene that was repeated more times than I can even count. Only one thing ever marred those priceless dinner hour memories. But that one thing…was big enough, horrid enough, smelly enough…that my brother, Kevin, and I—much to the horror of our mother—still talk about it today.
Homemade pickles.
If you’ve experienced pickle-making of the homemade variety, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t…let me explain. Pickles come from cucumbers and did we ever have some cucumbers growing in our backyard. I was a child of the seventies and it was not uncommon for a middle-class suburban family to grow their own vegetables in neat little rows against the back fence in those days. We were no different. Neat green clumps of lettuce, juicy red tomatoes, and the most prickly okra you’ve ever felt in your life found their way up through the earth in our backyard. Unfortunately for Kevin and me, cucumbers also grew in vast amounts. Sometimes they would grow so fast and multiply in number so quickly that my mother would carry brown paper bags full to eager neighbors.
Other times, she’d make…pickles.
There are no words to describe running up your driveway, tired and hungry from the hours spent outside, and being assaulted in the garage by the smell of vinegar and cucumbers! It is unique, to say the least, and the acidity and sourness blend in such a way that—truly—it can only be described as a stench. One whiff and I no longer had that boisterous eight-year-old appetite. Instead my tummy whirled and spun inside of my skinny little self and I’d beg to go to bed, gagging all the while. In hindsight, my brother and I kind of wonder if the pickle-making process was just Mom’s way of needing a quiet night with the kids tucked away early! I’d hold my nose during a quick shower while the warm, soapy water washed away the day’s grime but did absolutely nothing to dilute the smell that had such a talent for wafting its way from the kitchen into the farthest parts of our home. Scarcely dry, I’d jump into pajamas and make a run for my bed. Once there, it didn’t matter that it was ninety-five degrees outside or that the sun had yet to disappear completely behind the horizon. I’d go as far down in the bed as I could, pulling every stitch of covers up over my head, burrowing my face in the pillow. Praying for sleep to quickly deliver me from the smell, I’d almost always fall asleep wondering one simple thing. Why on earth did Mom go and ruin a perfectly wonderful summer day with a pot full of silly old cucumbers?
I still don’t eat pickles.
The memories of those pickle-making summers, however, have turned out to be something I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money. The richness of shared family recollections, no matter how smelly, provide endless hours of laughter and reminiscing. Our spouses shake their heads every time Kevin or I bring up the subject of pickles, but even they are wiping away tears of laughter by the time the story has been told…one more time.
Not the pickles again!
Family, summertime memories, writing
August 31, 2009 @ 6:36 am | Filed under: Family,Soul Food,Uniquely Me
I’ve been the quietest I’ve been in years…maybe ever…these past several months.
As an aside – I’m sure if you were to ask Mike, he’d beg to differ with that last statement! I’ve been talking, for sure, as we’ve been planning, implementing those plans, and making various adjustments these past few months. But, other than journaling it and talking it out within our four walls, I’ve not been too vocal on much except surface…stuff.
When I shut out the noise around me, good or bad, I can truly focus. Regain some clarity, perspective. There is a tranquility of spirit these days and – while it is something new for me – it is definitely something I hope to keep.
There is one area though that I am resolving to bolster even more. It is one of my weaknesses: time management. I want so much to do well in so many different areas that I find I am constantly tending to the urgent and – in the process – often ignoring the important.
Putting out fires is necessary, goodness knows, but what I so often perceive as being a burning forest usually turns out to be nothing more than smoldering embers. And sometimes when I get back to the important, the passion, the energy and the drive has already been spent.
My heartbeat lately has been to find God and then join Him in what He is doing. In this protected, tender space that is my life right now, I feel a real need to maximize the time. To not only be productive in my work, school, church and family life, but to really be cognizant as I go through my day of the people around me. What they are facing. Decisions they are making. Hurts they have.
My life has slowed, for sure. I don’t know that I will ever truly understand the scope of what this time is about for me. I feel almost certain that, at the very least, I won’t glimpse the meaning until I’ve faithfully trodded this path until I come to the next leg of the journey.
The last thing I want to do is to fill this time with busyness instead of progress. There are some things – some people – that I can do nothing about, nothing for. Some things just need to be left alone. I’m trying to learn that, accept it.
Only then can I cultivate the important. I want to grow a garden during this time, and nourish it with time spent with Him, time spent in reflection, time shared with loved ones, and time in knowledge and understanding.
Today begins the new fall term and, with it, I am starting a new book. I’m excited about both…and also nervous about both. Beginnings – as fresh and fun and exciting as they can be – aren’t really my forte. But they are crucial and I know that these first days will set the stage for the next weeks and months. I want those months to be productive ones. And I know what it will take for that productivity to even have a fighting chance.
This morning I lay it all down, all the components that make up ME.
I ask for eyes to see the realities.
Ears to hear His voice.
A heart to love without borders.
And arms strong enough to cradle it all.
