Signs for Teen Bedroom

When our oldest daughter moved into her own bedroom, she grew plants. At one time we counted 43 beautiful plants in her 9 x 12 square foot room. That’s a great accomplishment for a teen, especially keeping them alive.

She babied her plants, watered and fertilized them. That wouldn’t be bad, but her door opened into a hallway and across from the doorway into the kitchen.

That still doesn’t sound bad until you add the two weeks of clothes littering the room, her school work in piles and of course, the smell of the fish oil used on the plants.

Her father and I figured a dirty bedroom didn’t hurt anyone—until the smell permeated the kitchen.

Before we invited guests I hung signs on her door:

Disaster Area

Gas Mask Required Upon Entry 

Hard Hat Area 

Clean it Out Today or Else

Open the Door with Caution

I have no idea what the “or else” might have included because daughter always complied to the signs.

   

Sometimes I do wonder if those signs are what created such a perfectionist. Her house, even when her children were little, was and is, always spotless. 

Wish that daughter lived closer now, she could teach me a few organization skills. My house isn’t bad, but my office—oh my. Wonder if I added house plants if it might "feel" better?

There have been great moments living Life as The Lionhearted Kat. Sometimes I’m like my photo above, eating pizza,

Resting, relaxing and refreshing old relationships.

Other days I making all these new acquaintances—doctors, residents, nurses and other caregivers. I’m not a caregiver anymore and I don’t have a live-in-caregiver with me now, but my heart hurts for those in the caregiving situation. Many times they hide the weariness, but if you catch them alone, they let their guard down.

Receive the Blessings Offered

At the beginning of my breast cancer journey I received a book, “Midnight Meditations: A Journey Through Cancer and the Lessons Learned Along the Way.” By Roger and Debbie Bennett.

Roger journaled his feelings when he couldn’t sleep. His lessons written over a twelve year time period became my encouragement.

One night I picked up “Midnight Meditations.” The book fell open to page 41.

The other night a pastor shared something with me. He was basically at a loss for words, but he did say something that caused me to think. He said, “Roger, God is going to send people to bless you and support you during this valley. It may be financial; it may be just running errands. I want you to remember that you are not in charge all of the time—let people bless you.”

I’m a giver. My parents were givers. My grandparents were givers before them. It’s fun being the giver. Years ago my professor Mrs. G. B. Williamson said, “The Bible says it’s more blessed to give than receive, but without a gracious receiver the giver is robbed of a blessing.” I taught that lesson many times, but until breast cancer and husband’s death, I did not realize the full extent of the meaning.

Its 32 months since I put aside self. More people than I can name blessed my life with their help—my prayer is that God will continue to bless them.

Ready to Work

"Reporting for duty, Mook."

Husband dressed up for many Easter dramas, Bashful the Clown, and even when he signed in for housework duty. He loved an audience. Paddy and I were two that applauded his nonsense the most. 

A few years ago someone gave him three one million dollar bills—fake of course. He offered them to clerks in the grocery stores, asked the bank to change one for smaller bills, and he shared one of those bills with granddaughter Savannah.

Last week Savannah lost her wallet. She texted her mom in a panic. Marcy found the wallet in her car, snapped a photo, texted it to Savannah with a note:

Little girl…I have kidnapped your wallet. You will be contacted with further instructions on where 2 make the million dollar cash drop. I accept only large untraceable bills and remember….no police or no deal.

Imagine Marcy’s surprise when later that night Savannah whipped out her million dollar bill to pay for her wallet.

Life is what we make it.

Savannah and her mom chuckled at the memories of Grandpa and his million dollar bill.

The photo of a great Saturday morning salute brought me chuckles. Husband thought himself really cute. I must have thought him cute, too. I snapped the picture.   

Six Weeks of Easter

I don’t remember the actual title, but one year I wrote a six week celebration of Easter. When I presented the idea of involving all ages over several weeks before Easter, husband quickly reminded me we did not have a budget for extra anything.

It didn’t take long to find a willing and talented crew to help. I had a vague idea of what I wanted, the group brainstormed and then it happened.

Our costumes were sheets we gleaned from a motel and second hand clothing. In two days our church foyer became a Jewish marketplace. The platform was transformed into a village. For hours Wanda, Bob, Slim, Candy, husband the Carpenter girls and I built scenery.

Slim, the artist made cardboard into a barn puppet stage. Wanda had an eye for décor and created a small home with curtains, baskets, and weeds. The Carpenter kids helped build rocks from crumpled paper bags.

What did we purchase? Duct tape, masking tape and black markers.

What did we learn? It is a lot of work to present a drama for one week—lots more when you include different ages for different Sundays and add a choir, too.

Togetherness. More than church family, we played, laughed talked and created. Our congregation became totally enmeshed and involved in the last days of Christ’s days on earth and the resurrection.

Christ died that we might live. That each one might have life and have it more abundantly.

And husband, The Rev. Crawford, preached in his Biblical best. And me, I directed the choir in my fine inexpensive costume. (Note my toes.)

HUSBAND NUMBER ONE

Awe, my goodlooking husband number one, Gary Crawford, 1959.

In the fifties, photos were far and few between. I don’t have one picture of husband number one and me while a dating couple, yet my mind doesn’t forget. Funny how those memories hang around. Husband wore a suit to church every Sunday and even Wednesday nights. He wore “Kings Men” aftershave, which sent me swooning.

Later, after husband number four came along and I felt comfortable enough to tell him, I said, “You know I married you because you looked and smelled good.”

Sounds like a teenager’s reasoning, don’t you think?

CHECK the beginning of the story www.caringbridge.org/visit/kat2009

Savannah Says

Recently Savannah checked this blog to see what Grams might possibly have posted about her. Well, I haven't talked about her for awhile. For two years I've written my journal on www.caringbridge.org/visit/kat2009.

When Savannah lived with me, she was my daily humor. Now she just comes to visit every other week or so—my guest room is her place to crash. Although she’s a full time CNA living on her own and she has celebrated another birthday, she’s still a little kid at heart.

Several months ago I put a basket on a shelf in “her” room. Every week I put something in there—a little change, a porcelain pig, a T-shirt, a cartoon or maybe a piece of jewelry.
Savannah usually greets me, but before she stops to call friends or turn on TV she checks her basket.

Wonder which one of us enjoys the basket joy more?