P is for Pot… Bygone days

As the light goes out, a sudden darkness falls over the room.

The chest of drawers, standing against the wall in front of the bed is starting to take shape as my eyes adjust to the dark.  My eyes move around the large room that houses two beds, other than the one I am in, a wardrobe and a dresser.   Lastly, I see the crack of the closet door.  An opening peering at me as content as I am peering at it.

Sitting, often too full to handle even a teaspoon more of liquid, is a white kettle type object between the bed I share with two older siblings and the closet door.

My heart thumping loudly in my ears as I anticipate my lunge to the kettle on the floor we fondly call “The Pot.”

The pressure in my lower abdomen is becoming unbearable.

With eyes closed, I raise my body in an upward position.  My two sisters lay motionless sleeping.  My hands moving swiftly down the bed to touch the footboard. I grasp the wood and swing myself over the top to land on the floor in a quiet thump.  I open my eyes, holding them firmly to the floor in my frantic search of The Pot.  Smelling only the mustiness of the area rug brings disappointment as I remember The Pot had been taken for its daily walk earlier and was not returned.

At this point, the crack in the closet door is a mere crack in the closet door.  No longer an eye peering at me.

My concerns have changed, as well as, my destination.

My feet ache from the speed at which they are moving down the stairs and out into a night where the trees are appearing like shadows all around me.  The warm breeze gently swaying each branch as if to be beckoning me to have one last dance.

In the distance of about two hundred feet I see my destination growing nearer.  As my body hits the solid wood foundation, I swing open the door of the outhouse and I am quickly relieved.

The End

Know your destination and see it in your imagination, no matter what it is, EVERYTHING is a manifestation that will occur and will always be right on time.

-MaryEvelyn

Yes, I Created A Man

As my husband is pumping gas, I am sitting in the car one Saturday afternoon. On this most usual and unremarkable outing, I look up from my cell phone to see what I now consider remarkable. A pay phone! My mind is racing…when is the last time I have seen one of these, yes, most remarkable inventions? As my husband continues to fill up, I take myself on an imaginary adventure into the what if.

What if…The owner of the gas station was once homeless and had an idea of how to get off the streets. The system had removed all of the pay phones so he couldn’t call a family member to pick him up. This lead him to walk blocks and blocks, henceforth collapsing in front of a hospital and being admitted. Upon waking, his first words were, “May I use the phone?” To make a long story short, not only did he get a clean bill of health, he designed his idea. Became a multimillionaire and vowed to bring back pay phones one phone at a time.

Then, on another little handy invention that is most likely found attached to my hand, (my cell phone) I search for information on the invention of the public pay phone.

It seems, William Gray invented the first pay phone in 1889 and it was installed in a bank in Hartford, Connecticut. This invention opened the door for anyone who couldn’t afford their own phone to make business or personal calls. In 1995, pay phones supposedly hit their peak at 2.6 million.

As it turns out, the pay phone is few and far between these days. With conflicting stories as to how many pay phones that are now in the United States, I am now feeling that my imaginary tale may not be, too far fetched.

-MaryEvelyn

Real life that stopped my pen…

My oldest daughter wanted a dog when she was six years old. So off we did trot to the nearest animal shelter to find her perfect fur buddy.  The first puppy she saw she fell in love with. She was a mixed breed of this, that and the other but I was assured the parents were only medium size so no worries should I have that our tiny fur ball would eat us out of the house one day.  With that tidbit of information we were happily on our way home. 

As time went on Jamara (named affectionately after our three kids) grew to medium size and a wonderful addition to the family.  She had a litter of six a couple of years later due to my thinking she didn’t have the opportunity to do so. I then learned…look the other way at the wrong time and opportunity will knock.  Another unforgettable learning experience was, never let six adorable puppies out in an unfenced back yard.  The neighbors will never forgive you. 

As time went on Jamarra remained with us through three rabbits, a population explosion of hamsters, a short lived guinea pig, three doves, a few chameleons and lastly a few years later, a puppy for my youngest daughter.  

All was right in the world, we had brought an end to adding additional fur and feather babies into the family and through it all we felt very well balanced. 

Or so we thought…

Jamarra had other plans for us. On a routine veterinary visit we learned that Jamarra had diabetes and we were told of all the ugliness to expect.  But being the optimistic family that we are, we decided to make the best of it. As the days and months went by, Jamarra was getting her insulin shots daily and appeared to be doing well. Then, one morning she decided we could take the morning pain ritual of the shot and stick it anywhere, but not in her.  

 Our oldest daughter was basically excepting of the unwanted circumstances. She said just knowing that Jamarra was no longer struggling put her mind at ease.

I, on the other hand had lost my cool and perspective of the bigger picture that Jamarra was now okay. 

So I sat down to do what I would often do in my free time when I had something on my mind. Only this time was different, I couldn’t write. I couldn’t put our experience with Jamarra into words. 

And each time I tried I could never get past the first paragraph. This went on for what seemed like forever until…

I started to understand that situations such as this experience may affect my flow of words on occasion. It happens…and it’s okay.  I also understood that I don’t have to stay in that state and I am aware that it is just a state that I am in.  By state, I mean keeping my mind fixed on the subject. When I choose to let go of a state that is limiting me, I can move to a state of desire by transferring my thoughts onto something I so desire. Knowing that I create my life based on my thoughts, I intentionally choose my thoughts.

And today, I write about Jamarra with a smile. She left us with some wonderful memories that we will forever cherish. 

-MaryEvelyn

Memories

As she worked in the garden I could see the few strands of grays peeking out around the natural curls of her jet-black hair.  It was important to get an early start picking the beans that morning.  I could smell the fresh cut hay in the breeze coming through the open window.  Voices were coming from the barnyard.  I hurried and dressed, to get downstairs before she got in from the garden.  Her smile as she came through the kitchen door was warm and I could see that she welcomed the help.  I watched the tractors pull away from the barn.  We sat and broke the beans together.  It was very comforting being with her.  Her fried chicken, pork chops, green beans, potato salad, biscuits and hot apple pie were her husbands favorite after a long day in the fields.  On this day there were to be eight neighbor men for dinner.  She hummed a familiar medley as we cooked and would occasionally break out in chorus.  She could work all day in the garden and never look sunburned.  Her face was light, her eyes were cheerful, no matter how tired she would be.  When one of us would enter the room, as if to see us for the first time, she would often say, “I can’t believe all of my children are taller than me.  But you still have to be careful not to put on weight, you know you’ve inherited my child bearing hips.”  She slipped away for a few minutes.  She never let anyone see her without lipstick.  She impressed upon us to have pride in our appearance.  As I readied the table, she straightened her dress and gave her hair a final pat.  My dad and the workers came through the door. The feast was on the table and Mom looked beautiful.

                 These memories of the days gone by, I hope will always be as fresh in my mind as they are today.

My mother came to live with my family and I for three months.  The reasons that led up to why she came are not important.  Those reasons lost their merit the first day she walked through the door.  My mother is eighty-eight years old.  She suffers from Alzheimer’s.  She is the most beautiful, wonderful and spirited person I’ve known.  We aren’t sure of what changes will need to be made while Mom is visiting.  We only know, we feel up to any and all changes that are necessary to ensure her comfort.

My daughter and I spend the first two months laughing.  Mom has always been fun loving.  Now, she is even more so, she seems to smile continuously.  She has what is called good and bad days. To me this means, on good days she knows what she is talking about, and on bad days, her memory, the time of day, and where she should be, is misplaced.  For us, every day is a good day for three months.  As I said, we laugh the first two months.  We laugh for many reasons.  First, Mom’s sense of humor is amazing; she talks and acts out situations in such a creative way.  Second, we never know what is coming next, so we enjoy the surprise element.  Third, we laugh to keep from crying, because we see a woman we do not know.  The face is familiar, but her knowledge, characteristics, and her inability to be active in ways of walking alone or think correct thoughts independently, is not Mom.

I sleep with Mom every night.  As I lie and listen to her snore or click her teeth together I feel a joy to have her so close.  It is fulfilling to have the opportunity to take care of her in a way that she once cared for me.  I find such joy in the little things Mom does, such as, beating an egg with a fork, or mixing a cornbread mix together.  The first week she was here, I asked her if she wanted to help cook.  Her eyes showed fear as I helped her walk to the kitchen, then I could feel her relax.  She sat at the table with hands folded like the perfect lady she is.  I told her what the dinner menu was to be, she smiled and said, “I think I should be able to help a little.”  Mom learned to beat mixes by hand long ago, so I handed her the fork with the bowl and ingredients inside.  She sat for a moment, I gave her a minute just wanting to see how well her memory was these days.  As she slowly started moving the fork in circular motion I could see the wheels turning in her head.  At least three days a week we would enjoy Moms hand mixed cornbread muffins with dinner.

We played checkers, slow at first, then with more confidence.  She was soon reciting poems she learned long ago, and finishing my sentences on some occasions.  The more she did, the better she did it, on her good days.  No Mom is not the woman I knew when I was growing up; she is even more, she is my heroine.  Her strength, her courage, her zeal for life, Oh, how I do admire this person.

My parents brought nine children into the world.  They lost a little girl at the age of four to heart disease.  We lived on a farm with chickens, cows, horses, and pigs.  The old home place is still in the family, and we often take Mom back in hopes to jar her memory with a story of long ago.

Mom has stayed with us for only three months, but the memory and blessings she has left with us will live forever.

We took Mom back to her home March 3, 2002 thinking we will now go back to a normal household.  You know, the rush of everyday life.  But Mom, we still stop everyday and smell the roses, because you showed us how to slow down and appreciate all of the good around us.  And, to be thankful for what we have today.  My hope is that I can bring as much joy to my children as you have given me.

The last month we are with Mom we do not laugh as much.  For my daughter, a senior in high school, the seriousness of Alzheimer’s and the aging process has sunk in.  For me, I feel numb.  It feels we are living in a TV LifeTime story.  I think I will keep a journal of these three months, but early on I realize I do not want the information that close at hand.  I only want what my memory will allow.

I saw Mom a week later after taking her home, to where other siblings are caring for her.  She had already forgotten the three months we were together.  She told me she was glad to see me because my face looked familiar and friendly.

Little did we know what a tremendous blessing we had invited into our home.

Mom left this world on September 14, 2002 at 4:08 p.m. to continue her journey.

-MaryEvelyn