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almost home
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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@harmonyspearls
A time of gratitude...
A time of gratitudeâŚ
A couple weeks ago, when I was in the middle of Christmas Chocolate Craziness, I decided to hold off on opening any more Christmas cards. They were getting lost in my Christmas Craziness, a cursory glance was all I could muster in my long hours, and cramped mind. But, hereâs the thing. These people took the time to write our names on the envelope, they wanted to share in our Christmas joy. WhatâŚ
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I have exactly ten minutes to write this in the practice of free writingâwrite, brush the editor off your shoulder, set the timer, go (not to mention that I can hear Mudslides being made in the blender.)
Today we went to the beach and we paddle boarded. This was not easy, since the waves were rushing in willing any novice on a board from the Midwest to fall over. But, we prevailed. I was able to stay up on that board despite the waves that welled and lifted me up, because, I understood them. Oh, I fell off a few times, and my thighs are KILLING me, but, itâs not mine to overcome the waves, itâs mine to understand that they are a will of Another.
This is how I am with water, and yet, I was raised surrounded by cornfields. There was no water nearby, yet, when I am by a body of water, I am at peace. When I walk the river paths, my heart is happy. When I ride the waves my face toward the sun, I am feel that rhythm in my soul.
Some people would say that is because I am a Pisces. I dunno. I DO think there is something to the lunar phasesâyears of working on the oncology unit will point to something that goes on during the full moon. And I gravitate toward these things, yet, I would say, that there is a Hand bigger than just the âuniverseâ at play here.
The tide comes in and goes out according to the pull of the moon, but who put the moon into action?
Good question.
In the meantime, after riding the board, I began to swim, and I was riding the waves of the ocean, they swelled under me, they pulled me close, and then pushed me away. I was at will to their wanting. I couldnât hold my hand up and say, STOP!
I tried, they did not.
They swept me up, held me briefly, and then rushed back to the depths of the ocean that have literally never been explored, so deep, so profound, that no human has seen it.
Isnât that amazing?
My time here is coming to an end with my hubby and our Besties.
The palms trees will whisper that we were here to the waves that carried us at their whim, while we usher in the golden reds of autumn in the Midwest.
I pray that the whispers of the palms and the ocean waves will reach my ears as I sit in the quiet of an autumn dawn. My heart is alive in the seasons of my youth, and in that ocean of my dreams, and I am blessed to experience it all.
  The rhythms of the Ocean, on Harmony's Pearls. I have exactly ten minutes to write this in the practice of free writing--write, brush the editor off your shoulder, set the timer, go (not to mention that I can hear Mudslides being made in the blender.)
 I met our best friends on the same exact day I met my husband, September 20th, 1980. They came along with him as moral support, but first stopping at K-Mart to get him a shirt, to meet some girl his sister wanted him to meet.  BAM! Magic.
Scott and Rick were best friends. Â On May 24th that year, Rick stood up as best man at their wedding, little did we know that in less than a year, Scott would stand up in ours.
When we were young, we didnât know what friendships would endure, and I honestly donât think we even thought too much about it. Â Friendships need cultivating, nurturing, and love. Â But, some, like our Besties, come with minimal effort because they are so natural, like âmeant to beâ natural, that the love, nurturing and enduring is easy. Â We could no more think of our life without automatically thinking of our life with our Besties. Our lives are intertwined with memories and moments that build a beautiful life together.
Weâve had some crazy times, C-R-A-Z-Y times, my friends. Â We laugh until our bellies ache, and our cheeks hurt, and tears stream from our eyes when Rick and Scott recount again the antics of their youth. Â I love hearing those stories, it was BM. Before Me.
After almost 40 years there is nothing left to say, and everything to say because there are so many memories to talk about, so much laughter, so much to look forward to together, and some sadness mixed in there, too.  Thatâs what Besties do, they hang tough when the tough stuff happens.  We  know if anything would happen, in a heartbeat we would be at their side, and they to ours.
Years ago in the quiet while our tiny kids were sleeping in the living room of our house on Oakley Ave, and we were talking around the table, we all made a pact that we could never EVER get a divorce, because we came as a group deal
Of course, as marriages go, that pact was tested, but weirdly, at least for me, I know that pact held import in how I dealt with the hard times, because, divorcing Rick would most likely mean, Iâd be divorcing Scott and Jill and that would have broken my heart into a million MORE pieces. What can I say? Â Iâm a sucker for them.
Without them, Super Bowls would just be a football game, vacations would just be places to visit, Â and lobster races of lore, would have just been food.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of our 25 Annual Second Honeymoon (I think itâs our 25th, but donât quote me). Â We began this crazy annual thing back in Galena, and like the pact above, Jillie and I said, letâs have an Annual Second Honeymoon every year, and so began an amazing adventure.
Oh, there were times when we were all broke and spent the night in a hotel in a nearby town, ate snacks and watched movies, or, maybe we had dinner downtown. Â Last year, our Annual Second Honeymoon was the wedding of our daughter, who is their goddaughter. One to remember for sure.
Weâve been to Pismo Beach, Seattle, Vegas, the Grand Canyon, Phoenix, Florida, Hilton Head, Hawaii, Michigan in wintertime, and more⌠ So many trips and memories.
Weâve ridden horses, gambled, seen landmarks, been nearly eaten by a gator in the Everglades (okay, that one is a hyperbole), fed giraffes, eaten at some of the best restaurants, and witnessed historic events.
Weâve driven through the desert, along the ocean, over the mountains, by the canyons, and through the snow.
So, tomorrow, weâll meet at the airport, the guys will have a big breakfast, and we will sigh contentedly and just let the busyness of life slide off us. Â Jillie and I will have a Baileys on the plane. Â And we will all sit in aisle seats across from each other so we can stretch our legs.
When we land, we will go eat somewhere fabulous (Hey, barbeque is fabulous, right?), then we will find the house we are renting, scope out the best light to set out the puzzles, go to the grocery, put on swimming suits, hike up the music, and hit the ball around to see how many times we can hit it before it drops, and we have gotten to over one thousand hits, I KID YOU NOT! Â Itâs legendâour prowess in the pool.
But, mostly, we will settle in like not a minute has passed since the last time, we will talk, laugh, eat, drink, work puzzles, and make memories like only Besties can.
Besties I met our best friends on the same exact day I met my husband, September 20th, 1980.
Sticks and Stones...
A blog I wrote several years ago, but for some reason never published. But, the thoughts of healing made me decide to post it now. I think we can all see ourselves somewhere in this message. â¤ď¸
I was talking to a childhood friend a number of years ago, weâd been reaquainted when we were planning one of our class reunions.  She admitted that she was a bit of a bully as a kid. We graduated with about 61 kids.  The majority of us grew up together, twinsie and I came to town in November of first grade, some kids came and went, but a good many of us can name all the teachers from first gradeâŚ
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Home Again
Writer Ella Winter once mentioned to Thomas Wolfe that you really âCanât go home again.â  I donât remember the context of the conversation, or maybe was not even taught it, but Wolfe went on to write a fascinating novel with that title. And it always made me wonder, Maybe you canât go home again? As a child, I had always dreamed Iâd fall in love and stay forever in the village where I grew up butâŚ
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  When I was young, I dreamed of never leaving the tiny farming town I grew up in.  I dreamed of marrying a boy from that town and having tons of children and living in a big house on cobbled Woodstock Street.  I never wanted to leave, not ever.
On September 20, 1980, I met the man of my dreams who just so happened to not be a townsboy and I fell deeply in love.
Itâs really not so amazing that so many songs are written about love, so many stories, and movies because love changes everything, it really does. Â We all know it, we all want it, we all need it, we all want to give it, and we all want to receive it.
We did not have an easy start, my family had called a âmeetingâ to discuss my upcoming wedding, and they shared their concerns for me marrying a man who was very worrisome for them. Â A bad boy, with a bad boy reputation, and seemingly lack of drive, who was arguably a nonconformist (this being a true bone of contention). Â When I sat there listening, my heart ached that they were so myopic to the love that I felt. Â I know they were perplexed because I was not rash, I had worked caring for the terminally ill for a long time already, I was steady, strong, how could I have gone so wrong to fall in love with this man?
When they were done, I said, âWell, I guess we arenât going to talk about the color of the bridesmaids dresses then.â And I stood up and walked home, I wept for just a step or two, and then I nearly ran back into his arms as he waited for me. Â I told him the truth, and saw the sadness flash across his face, and we sealed the deal right then and there, knowing that marrying him I would have to forsake my family. Â It broke my heart, but at the same time, I could not begin to explain, as a young 22-year-old woman, to those so much wiser than I, that I believed in this man, he had more integrity and truth in him than anyone I had ever met. Â Itâs the very things they didnât see that I fell in love with. Â Truth, honesty, strength, vulnerability, courage. Â He just needed someone to believe, and I was she.
So a few months later, I packed my 1974 orange Vega hatchback with all my belongings and my dog and his cat and I didnât even so much as look in the rearview mirror as I drove away from the town of my dreams.
And I have not looked back since.  Oh, it took a few years, but eventually the family came around, we understood actually, not even with hindsight, right then and there, we understood that Rick was not like anyone else in our family, he broke from the ideal.  Even now, we would be worried if our children fell in love with someone like him, we would, weâve said it.  Not all bad boys can resist being a bad boy, and  by the way we lived out the reputation for a year or two, and I quite enjoyed it.  But, we had settled down in many ways that people could not necessarily see, and that bad boy brought out the fight in this good girl, and this good girl brought out the beautiful spirit of that bad boy, simply because she offered him a safe place to bring it, so it would grow to encompass all those family members in that room so many years ago, 33 years ago in fact.
He would become one of the most beloved brothers, he would drop everything to drive into the city to dig his dadâs car out of the el strip in Cicero after a snow storm so his dad wouldnât have to, and never say a word. Â Just let his dad be surprised. Â Heâs so amazing, he really is. He loves his children, his wife, his work, his family, our family, my brothers and sisters, especially my twin. He loves his Lord.
He loves a love story, donât give him an action film. Â Please let him cry, and itâs okay to make fun of him as we all sniffle and wipe our noses on our sleeves. Â Itâs who we are and who weâve become in this wedded bliss. Â It came the hard way, with a stint of therapy in there somewhere, putting it all on the line, thatâs what we did and continue to do.
Itâs a perfect life, it really is. Â I would normally be afraid to say something so bold as that, lest a bolt of lightning strike and rip this all apart, but the truth is, when youâve been together for as long as we have, youâve already suffered a few lightning bolts, or the other shoe dropping, or pain, and loss and disappointments along with sheer joy, and the shared memories, and the songs that bring us to tears, and laughing, we laugh a lot, the arguments and the making up, and kisses that are so sweet and passionate and the best thing on the planet. Â You canât be afraid to say itâs perfect, you canât because there is no such thing as tempting fate, because when you are afraid, you hold back, and we arenât the type to hold back. Â Nope, we arenât.
So, I donât mind saying itâs a perfect life, because it is, simply. For us.
 The Perfect life. For Us. When I was young, I dreamed of never leaving the tiny farming town I grew up in. Â
Chain of Fools or Destiny?
Chain of Fools or Destiny?
Sharing this blog again as I remember my friendâgone too soon.
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Mother's Day is nothing without Dad.
Motherâs Day is nothing without Dad.
Truth.
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From Whom You Come...
From Whom You ComeâŚ
Remembering Mom.
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So You Don't Like Your Pastor...
So You Donât Like Your PastorâŚ
This is very true, and might be very hard for people to read. Inspirational. Thinking of my own dad, and the pastors I care for in my own church. â¤ď¸
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The Shore
This is a short story I wrote about 16 years ago, the only one Iâve ever written, that is really nonfiction in disguise.  My dad had moved on in his second marriage some 15 years earlier, and I had no beefs with that, we were all grown, but twinsie and I had been very close to him, so this sudden break just made us believe that heâd not only divorced our mom, but had also divorced us.  AndâŚ
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Perfect Moments
  This blog was written in 2000 by the woman lying in the photo above.  She was just 41, and Sammy the Cat loved massaging her arm before bedtime.  I found this essay after my husband successfully transferred my old computer to this one, which would now be considered old by many standards.  It was like opening a time capsule reading all the essays and seeing all the photos.  Iâm sure more willâŚ
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Brinkley, my friend, till we meet again.
Brinkley, my friend, till we meet again.
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This is happening, we are gaining a daughter. â¤ď¸
Grave Dwellers
I have often admired people who make regular visits to the cemetery and spend time with loved ones there.  I recognize the peace this brings, the healing from loss.  I have, however, never felt compelled to do this.  In fact, I arranged Grammyâs entire service, helped her choose everything for her funeral, and I have not once in 8 years stepped into the cemetery since her interment. Donât judgeâŚ
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Take me out to the ball game, take me out to the park...
Take me out to the ball game, take me out to the parkâŚ
I admit it, okay?  Iâm a fair weather fan when it comes to the Cubbies.  I havenât watched them consistently since I met my life partnerâA Sox fanâin 1980.  In Chicago, marrying a southsider fan when you were a northsider fan was akin to marrying outside your ethnicity or religion.  Another reason for my family to be suspicious of my guy. When we were kids in our tiny town and met someone new theâŚ
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Bound for the trash
Bound for the trash
At the Old Folks Place (OFP) we are up and down the halls to the trash room and back as we help Daddio go through all the things he and Hedy have accumulated that they no longer want or need. In the trash room, people can put unwanted household itemsâchairs, curtains, small appliances, dishes and the like and anyone may take from the pile as they have the need. In our late night trips to and fro,âŚ
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