Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Thanks, Lent: Internet [4]

Thanks, Internet.

 

I had the best of intentions of writing forty rockin' days of thank you, thank you, thank you. All heartfelt -some funny, some so sincere I cry, some just necessary for me to strip myself of the burden that being a shy writer is. Then, the internet stepped in and gave me space to assess myself. You see, internet, you stepped out on me. You've stopped signaling, networking, and connecting with my computer. I don't know what's to blame, but I'm thanking you. Why? -Such a great question, World Wide Web.

But, a better answer, I feel. You see, Internet, you left me to sit and steep in my letters written by hand. And you made me realize I'm so grateful for the people in my life that my heart hurts with happiness. I ache to let them know. Worse still, I'm shy. I'm a writer who bares so much of the ugly in our life, but I shy away from the warm fuzzies. Instead of sweet cozy words, my happy thanks turn into sarcasm -which is funny, I know, but it has this wall-like quality to it.

I didn't want to write 40 thank you's just to make people laugh. Or cry. But instead, I wrote them for my heart to stop exploding inside of me and to do so out in the open. And for me, this blog is open. It's the beautiful amber waves of grain. (you see what I did there? amber, Amber) That said, I'm sorry for the absence, but I'm thankful for the weekend to think and to revel in the beautiful family that my dad created. The 40 thanks will continue. And my prayer is they'll honor Him while allowing some of the excitedly grateful, love-filled pressure out of my pent up heart.

To the WWW, thank you for keeping me in check. Thank you for reminding me of my personal firewalls. I promise to let my guard down a bit. But in order to do so, I need you to get reconnected, to communicate with the wide world outside our white walls. Please.



Friday, February 15, 2013

Thanks, Lent: Hazel [3]

Thank you Hazel Gwynneth. 


Thank you, my dear pup, for becoming more aware of my emotions than I. You detect my worries and sadness unlike most people, but instead of asking questions or begging the point, you lay sweetly at my feet and snore to remind me of your presence. You lay your head in my lap as I weep, regardless of whether the tears are of sadness or pure joy. Your comfort doesn't go unnoticed, although I don't return the gesture sometimes. 


Thank you for putting up with your dad and I. We think what we think is fun will resonate with you... Turns out you hate water, especially that which waves. To be honest, dog beach was as terrifyingly horrible for me as it was for you. You were a sport for the day, despite the too many sniffing male dogs status. I'm sorry we put you through that... It hasn't been repeated because I'm still trying to get over the trauma of it all. 


Thank you for cuddling up so sweetly beside me you stinky thang. I know you hate baths and discipline, but it makes you so pretty and well-behaved. And trust me, you're nothing short of impressive. Your ability to sweetly snuggle at the end of the bed is so endearing, but your whopping seventy pound body is just a bit over my cuddle-buddy weight limit. Plus there's already two adults in the bed. You're cute... in the morning. 


Thank you for keeping me company at work. I know it's mostly sleeping, snoring, and sometimes chewing on a bone. But I check you out and enjoy your ability to relax while I'm busy being Ms. Business. The boys at the office adore you... Because your little booty shaking excitement just can't be ignored and, to be honest, you're a gentle soul, despite the way you jump. (I hate that and can't wait till you get that under control...) 


Thank you for wearing the cone of shame like a champion. Notice I didn't say walking in it... Because, well, you didn't. I'm sorry you hated that cone and your stitches. But, to be honest, one of you was more than enough for dad and I. You're beautiful, lovely, wonderful, but what would we have done with two of you! 


Thank you for letting Bubba man-handle you. I know, he's a whole lot of excitement. But that's what everybody loves about him Hazel. And you'll learn how to love it too! You know, you two sort of look alike, girl. Maybe you should think about shaving your 'stache? 


And finally, thank you for loving our brown eyed boy! Never did I think we could have a puppy that means so much to him, but you're his girl. And, truth be told, that makes you damn lucky. So, Hazel, cherish his sweet attentiveness, because one day you'll be begging for him while he's got his eye on a true, blue girlfriend of his own... Share your ball, give him kisses, and lay close when you two are hanging out because he loves your crazy baboon of a self -and that very fact makes you so lucky. 

Thank you Hazel-nut. 
We love you.
Mom

P.S. Thought you should close this thing out yourself. 

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Thanks, Lent: My Valentine [2]

Thank you Mr. Thomas. 


Thank you tall, blonde, mystery boy for coming crashing in to my seemingly perfect plan of life when I was least expecting, or wanting, you. You showed me what it means to pursue someone and that nice guys, in fact, don't finish last. You redefined -or maybe, undefined- what it means to have game. I'm so glad you didn't listen to the ridiculous gamut of reasons why we couldn't be... Because here we are. 


Thank you for proving that a 3.98 GPA can be paired with a sense of humor, good looks, and an unassuming charm. I thought geeks weren't allowed to have jokes too. But it seems you are one of those rare (D) all of the above cases that many teachers advise students against choosing. I'm so glad I didn't listen to them... Because here you are. 


Thank you for going to parties with the pregnant girl. Sure, fake belly, no baby. But I was the girl heavy laden with morals... No sex before marriage, no drinking before age twenty-one, no drugs, no cheating, no dirty fun. You handled it all like a consummate gentleman. Not once questioning my choices, but honoring them and, willingly, making them your own. That's a gift I will never lose sight of; undoubtedly, one of the most precious you've bestowed upon me to this very day. 


Thank you for making as many poor fashion choices as me and taking pictures in them. Anyone else would have told me to lay off the optical illusion print dress and got your blood drawn to check for jaundice in that mustard shirt. But I've got to admit, we look happy doing it and I know we were... And we are. 


Thank you for showing me what love truly looks like... It's not about flowers, cards, or Valentine's Day, but about dying to yourself a little bit every day in service and gratitude to the Lord that made us by providing for me. Your commute, your dedication to family, and your help with the dinner dishes make my heart beat a little bit faster... Not that a kiss good morning, goodbye and good night don't help! I'm thankful it isn't about the big R romantic gestures, but instead about the little r romance on the daily. 


Thank you for agreeing to grow old with me. I'm crotchety, bent on having my way, and love clothes and shoes a bit too much... Yet you'll have me just as I am. Thanks for pushing me to grow to be a woman more devoted to His heart and purpose and plan every day... Especially those days where I resist it most. 

You're a winner, you know.
Or maybe, I'm the winner since you're mine. 

Thank you.
I love you for all of time.
Mrs. T

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Thanks, Lent: Dad [1]


Thank you,
Dad.

Thank you for teaching me that I could not only survive, but thrive, amongst men. You showed me that I actually did bring creativity and intelligence to the table when I was intimidated by the unlimited testosterone in the room. I had no idea I'd be working as the solo woman in a team of men for many years, but somehow, I think you did. My success would be inconceivable without the confidence you instilled in me time and time again. I'd love for you to witness the fruit of your efforts, but please know, it's all from the foundation you built within me. (Ironic, huh? Not just physical foundations, but metaphoric ones too!)

Thank you for dementia. I know, you'd be damned if this was something you thought up or chose. Although you are suffering and have for many years, my faith in your God, our God, is unshakable and mature beyond my years. Without you and your joy despite your disease, I'd still be busy worrying about the music I listen to, the clothes I wear, and the movies I watch. But life is bigger than that and you've proved it. 

Thank you for your sense of adventure. You once asked me if I thought you'd let me do anything dangerous. I said no. I lied. I think you would. You believed in living a life unhindered by fear and reservations, often this means erring toward the side of danger. I'm learning to let go and live more often now. Today, I went on Supreme Scream, hard to believe, huh? 

Thank you for your short Irish legs, round tummy, thick hair, and dimpled chin. I don't believe any of the other kids got all of your best features combined like I. And what I once hated about myself, I now cherish and love... Even if I wish I could rock some washboard abs and regular-length jeans from time to time. 

Thank you for your passion for concrete. Did I ever think I'd love some crushed rock and water mixed together so much? No, but I do. And I imagine this is a life long pursuit, just like you. Never did you think I'd be the one to pick it up. Or maybe you knew, just like you always did. Thank you for leaving that behind for me. A professional legacy I can only hope and pray I honor. 

Thank you for being a true friend to others. Because those people are being faithful to you and us in this time. It's restored my faith in true, deeply rooted friendship -something I was certain didn't exist. You've got something special about you (not that I didn't know that) and you have friends doing their best to honor that bit o' special. It's beautiful, wonderful, and a bit magical to me. 

I wish you could understand the magnitude of your life Dad. It was a big one with even bigger ripples in the pond around it. Your life was well-lived and leaves much to be gleaned and loved and enjoyed -I plan on doing that while on a beautiful beach with a drink in my hand one of these days. Just like you'd have wanted it. Margarita on the rocks with salt sound good? I'll order one for you too. 

I'm thankful for the man you were and you are.
I love you Dad. 

Love,
Your Baby Girl 

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Thanks Lent.

It's that time of year where, in preparation for Easter, we give something up. I decided that I'd add something new to my plate which would, in turn, take priority of other (not-so-important) things. Initially, I told myself I'd just write more, but realized that would turn into a doozy between trying to come up with thoughts, themes, and topics. So, I pushed myself a bit and decided to write more publicly. That means here.


And then I got to thinking what Lent is about for me this year. And with all that's going on, it's about thanksgiving. Thank you Lord for your precious Son who came and surrendered his life in order to grant me the chance to come to Heaven and live with Your Greatness forever and always. Whoa. It means something so new this year, post-dementia. In my thankfulness, I realize there's this beautiful collection of people around me who deserve to know how much they mean to me and to more than me. That said, I'm writing 40 days of thank you notes. Publicly. In hopes of several things:

(1) I will be held accountable by those who read.
(2) You will be inspired to thank someone around you just for the sake of being thankful.
(3) My thank-ees will realize I mean it, but more than just a small card.
(4) To compile what it is about people that makes me thankful for them, then to mirror that in myself. 

Please enjoy. And if you don't, come back in 40 days and enjoy your regularly scheduled programming. (Side note: I am still planning on posting some of my writing outside of thanks, too -contingent on how life goes from here until Easter)


Thursday, February 7, 2013

My Dearest of Apologies


Pre-dementia, I'd call myself Judging Judy, willing to point all my fingers in different directions with absolutely hideous criticisms flying out into the universe. Mostly, I kept them to myself.
Mostly.

But those ones that I dare speak haunt me today. I didn't know the ugly that escaped me. 
Then, dementia. My high horse turned out to be a Trojan full of enemy soldiers here to dismantle the throne upon which I built for myself.

Now I find myself amidst the rubble, preferring ground level, wondering how in hell I got so self-aggrandizing. Oh, humility how painful thou art.

Here's a bitty sorry for my ugly, my friends. I'm sorry. So truly apologetic. 
I know I embarrassed you with my mean thoughts, words, opines. But know, I was really embarrassing myself. You handled my ugly with grace that did not go unnoticed -by me and by others. 
I'm sorry it took so long for me to come around.

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