Lady Ruth Fi-Fi Center

OK, so I don't end up in therapy, I am admitting now, very forthcoming, that I will be a royal wedding watcher.  Yes, I will be setting my alarm at 4:00 a.m. That hasn't happened since the last time I jetted off to a tropical isle, which would have been ... NEVER!  I want to watch it all "live"  I just don't think I could be happy with re-runs, which I am sure will infiltrate all the news mediums for the next several weeks.  No, I want to watch it live!

If we were all truthful to ourselves, I'm sure everyone of my gender, will admit that we, at some point in our lives, have dreamed of riding off into the sunset with our beautiful prince.  It may have been the gangly boy with braces and pimples in the 9th grade, our first adult love in college, or the pot-bellied mate we may currently have in our lives.  I know I had one prince in my lifetime, and I let him slip through my fingers.  If I had only been as smart 30 years ago, as I think I am today.

So here comes our opportunity to watch this lovely lady transform into a princess.  I know it's a cliche, but it truly is a modern day fairy tale.  For this brief period of time, we get to travel through our fairy tales that we only envisioned as a child.

Surely you have heard of the mechanism for determining your Royal Wedding Guest Name.  First you put Lord or Lady in front, then you add the first name of a grandparent, then you add the name of your first pet, then you add the name of the street where you grew up.

Well, I must bug off!   It's time to set the alarm.  I think I  will make some scones, have a spot of tea, and of course, will adorn myself with my finest hat.  Lady Ruth Fi-Fi Center is about to arrive at the event of the decade!

The Search Itself ...

Three days after Easter, Wednesday, March 30, 2005 my Mother died very unexpectedly.  In my blessed numbness I went through all the motions.  I personally went to her best friend's house to tell her the news. I just couldn't do it over the phone.  I went to the church to meet with our priest and nun to coordinate her sacred Mass of Burial.  I went to her house to pick out what I thought she would want to wear, choosing her teal dress which I had picked out for her for Easter.  But then the weather had turned cold, and she was unable to wear it.   I knew it to be her favorite color, but when I took it out of the closet, I realized it hadn't been hemmed yet.  I guess she had put it off, since she knew it was going to be too cold to wear it.  I could hear her saying to me, "Oh, honey that dress is too long."  But, then I knew from prior experience, upon the death of my father, that the undertaker does not want you to bring shoes.  So I said out loud to Mother, "I know it is too long, but you always freeze to death. Maybe it will keep your feet warm."  I hope it did.  Then I went to the funeral home to pick out everything else.  When I asked the undertaker if he thought the casket I had chosen was too  masculine, he said, "Well, let's just lay the dress in here and see what you think."  This was really weird to me, and my best friend who was with me, walked up about that time, and the look on her face was just priceless. I said, "Mary, does this look all right to you?"  "Yes, I think it is fine." 

The following day was her funeral home visitation.  I awoke that morning feeling quite ill. Thinking it was nerves, grief, shock, whatever, I tried to go about the day. We were to be at the funeral home at 2:00 p.m.  By noon I was flat on my back, so ill I wasn't able to even stand.  I guess I had caught the same virus that had hit my Mother so hard just two days before.  I somehow managed to dress and get to the funeral home.  The first person to visit was my dance instructor for many, many years during my childhood.   This was so appropriate, because other than my parents, she had more influence on me than anyone during my formative years.  After she left the funeral home, I continued to get sicker and sicker.  I ended up being able to stay for only about one-half hour, and then I had to be taken to the Emergency Room.  I spent the rest of my Mother's funeral home visitation in the hospital.

Who misses their Mother's visitation?  It's not something that you can say, "Oh, I understand now.  Next time I'll know to do ..."   There is no next time. There is no re-do.  I missed the hugs. I missed the commemorative stories shared by so many.  I missed the support of just being in the presence of the people who thought enough about my Mother, our family, to come to pay their respects.

It's now been six years since this happened.  I'm still not sure what the lesson is to all this.

I do know that I have always known I have wonderful friends. But their love during this was a beautiful affirmation of their importance and blessing in my life.

I do know that, even though I missed the hugs during the visitation, that the cards that came to my home almost daily for three months recreated my Mother's life for me. The memories shared with me with the handwritten notes within these cards were a lovely testament of her life on this earth.

I do know that the grief counselor at my church has now become a lifelong friend of mine.

I do know that the spiritual journey, spiritual search I have been on since this fateful day, has been one of confusion, learning, and awakening. 

Sometimes the blessing is in the search itself.


This week The Red Dress Club wanted us to recall something in our life that seemed terrible at the time, but looking back, brought  something wonderful.

The Holiest of Friday's

It is the holiest of Friday's for Christians. This last Friday in Lent ... this most holy Good Friday.  The color of the Bishop's, priest's, and deacon's vestments are in reverence to His blood and also the Holy Spirit.  The cloth draped over the cross for veneration the same sacred color.  When I come forward for the Veneration of the Cross, bow, and kiss the cross, it is truly the most solemn of actions in my Catholic heritage.

It is not about the fish fries or whether I've been able to hold true to my fasting from my beloved pasta.  It is the culmination of the last 40 days of prayer, meditation, reflection, and renewal of my baptismal promise.

I remember as a child the Passion of Our Lord being read on Good Friday.  I remember the shifting from foot to foot and wondering if the priest would ever come to the end of the story.  Thankful that it was only read during this one period of time throughout the year. Glad, when at the end, he finally would say, "The Passion of Our Lord."  As a child was it even possible to understand what we had just heard?  And, as an adult, is it possible to absolutely comprehend the love that drives our salvation?  So often we get caught up in the mysticism of our faith, and we forget that this was a man in flesh and blood, with a mother and father, and friends who loved Him.  This man, made to carry the burden of His cross, and suffer unbearably so our sins could be forgiven. 

I find myself trying to stretch this into a longer written piece, when in reality I am not even worthy to approach this subject.  I will leave it where it is, and on Good Friday, when I see the Bishop, priest, and deacon enter the church in their vibrant vestments, my mind will be on the prayerful lyrics of a beautiful song written by Timothy R. Smith, "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross"...

"See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down!  Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?"   ... "Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."


The Red Dress Club has challenged us to write  about the color red without using the word "red." I was inspired by Holy Week.

What I Lack? 0.00004571634269 Nautical Leagues

I'm 57 inches tall.  I always thought that was 4'9", didn't you?  But, when I went to the conversion chart, the calculation from inches to feet was stated as 4.75 feet.  I've just lost another .15 inches.  That hardly seems fair. Some of the other conversions were:

57 inches  ... 144.78 centimeters
57 inches  ... 1447.8 millimeters
57 inches  ... 1.4478 meters
57 inches  ... 1.58333 yards
57 inches  ... 0.0014478 kilometers
57 inches  ... 0.00026058315335 nautical leagues.  WHEW! I'm exhausted and just can't go on with these conversions.

But I can tell you about the perils of a grown, single, adult who is 0.00026058315335 nautical leagues tall.  For starters, any items in the kitchen, frequently used, are kept in the first tier of cabinets.  So the kitchen is already at a disadvantage, because these lower shelves are crammed past capacity.  There are things in my top cabinets that I haven't seen in years.  I'm hoping, as I reflect upon this now, that at some point I haven't put money up there for some reason.  I could be rich! Who would know?  I would need to go retrieve the extension ladder to crawl up there and look.

I can tell you that a back scratcher works really well, when you are standing on a four foot step ladder, to wind Christmas lights around the top of the tree. Now the angel on the top is a different story.  The back scratcher won't work for her, so that is when you get the neighbor, the mailman, the landscaper, the cable guy, or whoever you can nab, look pitiful and say, "Can you please put my angel on my tree?" Hey, it's part of the Christmas festivities each year at my house.  I never know who may become a part of my Christmas tradition.  I have photos of folks in my Christmas album who I identify as, "Oh, that's who put the angel on my tree."  Gee, if I had only learned all their names, I would have quite a list of Christmas card recipients by now.

I can tell you that I absolutely love it when I am scaling the racks in the grocery store for my salad dressing, which I might add, is always at the top.  A glass bottle to boot!  When I need aerobic exercise, I don't pay for a gym.  I go to the grocery.  I have become quite adept at placing my feet securely on the bottom shelf, strategically positioning my hands midway up the shelving, and then determining which hand I'm going to release to grab the item from the top shelf, then return safely to the floor, and place the item in the basket.  I have been known to thrust my arms in the air, upon completion, just as a marathoner does when he crosses the finish line.  I just adore it when I have finally reached the top of the shelves and someone walks by and says, "Can I get something for you?"  My reply, "Naw! I'm just stretching and limbering up for the frozen food section."  The degree of difficulty is much higher over there, and you get extra points. You have to master the same scaling expertise, but hold the door open by thrusting your hip to the side, all the time while your hands are turning blue and going numb from the Arctic touch of the freezer. 

It's not just about the reaching part either.  It is really exciting, and I'm sure entertaining for others, when I take my car into the car wash. Oh my goodness, the guys just dry, and buff, and polish the car, place the baby powder air freshener in the car, and then smiling proudly hold my door open for me.  Did I know they had moved my seat back for the 6'8" employee?  Nope ... I get in, sit down, reach for my pedals, and slide right down to the floor board.  "Oh, mam, are you all right?"  "Yes, yes I'm fine.  I'm just reaching for my earring that fell on the floor!"

Yes, there are many obstacles for a person who is 0.00026058315335 nautical leagues tall.  I just make sure I can always reach the margarita mix!

What Is it?

"This, what is it?" Rao asked in his broken English.  His newly adopted mother turned and saw him with the hose and sprinkler head in his hands.

Rao had been orphaned two years before in Haiti.  He had spent time on the streets, time  huddled under make-shift roofs, always in filth and squalor unimaginable to masses.  In his young life, he had endured more than most would in a lifetime.

With his smile stretched to fill most of his face, he turned the nozzle over and around until he accidentally pushed the trigger that sent a jolt of water spray directly into his face.  He jumped with shock, and fear took over the previous smile.  "Don't be afraid, Rao" his mother soothed.  "It's just water."  Rao continued to wipe his face, saying "but dirty, dirty."

His mother, sadly, then knew his fear.  Rao was not accustomed to fresh, clean water.  He was only used to puddles with sewage, and on rare occasions, the need for him to carry heavy buckets filled with rarely available clean water, back to his living environment for the day.  Only then could he drink and wash without the fear of disease. How many times had he seen his family dwindle and die from disease related to his poverty.  He had eventually seen his entire family perish and leave him alone and frightened, fending for himself at such a tender young age.

His new mother had been on a mission trip with her Catholic Cathedral.  Their main hope had been to install a water purifier system for the school her church supported.  It had taken three to four trips to just prepare and complete the necessary requirements to finally install the purifier.  It was now in place, and the remaining task was to educate the people how to maintain the system once the missionaries returned to their homes.

It was during this trip that she and Rao met each other for the first time.  They were both connected by their mutual smiles.  Even with the language barrier, they quickly became best friends.  They were shadows of each other.  Learning of his orphan status nearly broke her heart.  As she left to return home, she felt as if she couldn't walk away.  Each step was a step in pain.  Tears accompanied her on the plane all the way home.  Would she ever see him again?

Now she had completed the months of red tape, and her return to Haiti was filled with excitement and expectations.  But, what if something had happened?  What if he was gone?  What if he was lost to her forever?  They both saw each other at about the same time, and those smiles returned.  This time when it was time to leave, they had boarded the plane together ... hand in hand.  Tears on this journey were tears of shear happiness.  As Rao looked out the plane window, as they landed in his new home, she said, "We are family."

"Rao, the water is absolutely 100% clean.  You are safe to drink it, and play in it.  Let it run over you, feel the coolness."  Rao took the hose, put the sprinkler head over the top of his head.  This time when he pushed the trigger, there was no fear.  Only a smile that could have lit the world.  With his eyes closed, his head back, the water ran over his silken ebony body.  He stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity to him.  He was safe in the enveloping arms of the cool, clean, healthy water.


The challenge for The Red Dress writing club was to view the picture of a hose and sprinkler head.  This is the story that came from that picture.

Chelsea Bear ... December 12, 1993 to April 8, 2008

GOODBYE

Today I said goodbye to my best friend.  I cradled her in my arms, with her head on my shoulder, snuggled just below my chin … just in the fashion I had carried her to bed so many times over so many years.

The doctor, who had taken care of her for so long, with compassion and love, helped her to a peaceful rest.  I can’t help but feel, that in my arms, she felt safe and secure; just as she had felt throughout her days with me. At least I hope she did, Oh, I hope she did.

It all happened very quickly.  The vet tech took her away from me for oxygen, and I told them not to let her be alone, so about a  minute later they came and got me. She had this little oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, but those big brown eyes saw me immediately when I came into the room. I told her “mommy’s here, you’re safe.”  She seemed to relax immediately.  I held the oxygen for her until they got the IV in her leg, then they gave her a little sodium pentothal, and while she was dosing off I kept kissing her face, ears, head, nose, and telling her I loved her.  I told her Grandma was waiting for her and would be so glad to see her.  I told her to give Grandma a big wet sloppy kiss, and also asked her to save a place for me.  As she got sleepier, I told her to lay her little head down, and she basically laid her little head in the palms of my hands.  Then in less than a minute I was told  she was gone.  It was all very peaceful and she was most aware that I was with her.   I tried to stay calm so she wouldn’t feed off of me and be scared.  I promised her when she was 8 weeks old that I would take care of her, and now 14 ½ years later, I refused to let her down in this moment of need.  I stayed with her, after her death, for about 30 minutes, just the two of us, as we had been for so many years. 

I went home,  and I prepared her resting place … what was to be beneath her favorite tree, where she would stand, look up, and implore the squirrels, “please come down and play with me!”  But after careful contemplation, I chose cremation and I brought her home, placed her in my hand-built pottery urn, placed carefully on the night stand, where I could tell her goodnight every night, and give her a tender and longing love pat.

A bit later in the week I needed to go to the bank.   It was all I could do to go through the drive-through that she and I always went through together.  She loved to go to the bank!  On her first trip with me as a puppy, the teller sent her a cookie, and she never forgot.  On every subsequent trip, she would stand with her paws on the console and stare at the bank tube, waiting for her treat.  I usually took an extra cookie with me, just in case the teller didn’t send her one.  You see, I would put mine in the bank tube so she wouldn’t be disappointed.  It would break my heart if she ever looked sad.  I swear on my first trip to the bank, alone, without her, I could feel her little nose so close to my right cheek as she stared at the bank tube, waiting for her cookie.  No cookie came for her.  I guess the teller couldn’t feel her presence … but I could.

In my sadness, I set out for a walk.  I followed the path we had taken so many times. I know I saw the grass bend, and the wild flowers sway, just about the same time I felt the brush of her happily wagging tail across my leg.  I stopped for a moment, listened, and walked on. With tears in my eyes, I returned home, and I realized then that she had followed me home, just as she had done so many years before.

It was then that I realized my sadness was intensified by my trying to say goodbye.  I had placed her in her earthly resting place, but I had tenderly, so tenderly placed her in her eternal resting place … my heart. 

Instead of saying goodbye, I only needed to utter the words, “see you.”  I see her all the time, and I feel her constantly. God gives us these precious gifts for such a short time, but He enables their spirit to live in our hearts forever.  This may be our biggest blessing.

“See you my dear, dear friend.”

This was written three years ago after the death of my beloved Bichon, Chelsea Bear.  I post it today in loving tribute to her.

Boiled Peanuts, and Ewwww! Jelly Fish ...

Every summer my Mother, Daddy, big sister, and I would pack into the car and head south for our summer vacation.  First to Savannah, Georgia to visit my Grandparents, and then on to Ormond Beach, Florida for beach time!

This, of course, was before there was air conditioning in cars.  So down the road we would go with all the windows down, no seat belts, and a few snacks packed in the car with us.  The interstate wasn't complete at that time either, so most of the driving was on a two-lane, sometime four-lane highway.  The first hurdle for us was the trip across Monteagle in Tennessee.  Since my sister and I both got car sick going around a lot of curves, all four of us would be crammed in the front seat together for at least the 30 to 45 minutes it took us to cross Monteagle.  At the top of Monteagle was a gas station that we always stopped at to re-fuel and take a potty break.  I remember buying a tomahawk once in the attached gift shop, and when showing it to my sister I said, "Look!  A real Indian made it."  Her reply was, "Oh sure, I bet he's sitting right out back of the gas station making those up right now."  Daddy's reply, "It was, too, made by a real Indian."  I still have that tomahawk hanging on a hook in my computer room.  And, you know, I believe Daddy was right. I do think it was made by a real Indian.

Once we arrived at my Grandparents home, it was time for some real "spoiling" time.  Our favorite part of this portion of the trip was going to Tybee Beach.  Daddy would always buy us a bag of boiled peanuts, we would rent an "ocean" canvas float, and we would ride the waves all afternoon.  On one occasion, Daddy had just gone up on the beach when he heard me screaming bloody murder. The look on his face I will never forget.  He charged back into the ocean, scooped me up, and carried me to shore.  I had had the unfortunate happening of swimming through a school of jelly fish.  Up to the lifeguard stand I was taken, and my legs and arms were washed down with an antiseptic soap and water combination.  I don't think I have been more than knee deep in the ocean since that time. 

My Grandmother was a true southern belle.  I can remember to this day, her sitting on the beach, in her dress, pearls, and high heel shoes holding per parasol.   That is a vision that I am sure would not happen today.  Grandpa would be sitting right next to her in his tan slacks, plaid shirt, hair blowing in the wind, with a smile on his face as we all played in the sand and surf. 

We usually set up our beach digs just down from the pier.  Oh, how we wanted to walk out on that pier, and Mother would never let us.  She was so afraid that the pier would fall, for some unknown reason, and we would fall into the ocean. She was so deathly afraid of water.  That old pier actually did fall one season after we had left.  A hurricane hit that area and the pier was washed out.   There is a new pier in its place now, and just this past December I visited Tybee Beach for the first time since I was a teenager.  I walked out on that new pier, thought of my Mother's fears, and when I looked down the beach where we all used to sit, I could almost see my Grandmother sitting there with her parasol.  My sister was home in Indiana, and my parents and Grandparents are all gone now.  I had an intense sense of loneliness, as I realized I was the only one there out of our group.  But, then I also had a sense of such warmth and connection, when I realized I could visualize and feel it all.

After leaving Savannah on these trips, we would head further south to Ormond Beach, Florida.  This was time devoted to just my Mother, Daddy, sister, and me.  The little cottages where we stayed, Coral Sands, are still standing today.  They are nestled a few steps from the beach, with a gorgeous view down the beach and the incoming waves of the ocean.  There was also a swimming pool where we could swim and play when we grew tired of the salt and sand. 

The one constant to these wonderful beach trips was the Coppertone Suntan Lotion.  Mother would slather us two red-headed girls from head to toe in Coppertone.  Our fair skin burnt so easily.  To this day I still use Coppertone sun products.  Over the years I have used the oil, the 4 sunscreen lotion, the 15 sunscreen lotion, the 30 sunscreen lotion, and now in this time of my life the 45 sunscreen lotion. I think I have finally realized that I will NEVER have a tan.  I love the product and that is one of the reasons I use it, but I think the true reason I use it, to this day, is the memory that the scent of Coppertone washes over me.  I smell that wonderful smell, and I am transported to my youth, my family vacations, and the loving arms of my Grandmother and Grandpa.   I'm hungry for some boiled peanuts just thinking about it ... but let's leave the jelly fish behind!!

This is written in answer to the  challenge from The Red Dress writing club.  We were to write about a memory associated with a smell.

A Special Bond

Have you ever wondered what forms the bond? 

These creatures, these souls with fluff,

cold noses, twitching ears,

staring eyes … they come to us by different means,

but all end up residing in the same spot … our hearts.

We owe them love, nurturing, and good care.

We owe them a time for exercise,

be it a walk in the park,

a ball tossed in the house, or just a good game

of tug-of-war with their favorite rag.

We owe them a home; free of danger,

and the comfort of knowing

they are safe and secure in our care.

You may ask, what is our reward? 

It’s the gift that these magnificent creatures alone possess …

the pricking of the ears, the twitching of the nose,

the loving stare, and the untiring wag of the tail.

All of this emotion is shared when we walk into a room

after an absence of as little as five minutes,

or as long as a week’s vacation. 

You see, time means nothing in their hearts.

They only know they love us unconditionally,

and the best part of their day is the time

spent with their beloved friends.

They have a keen sense of awareness

during times of stress or illness in our lives. 

Haven’t we all experienced the comfort

of a chin propped in our lap,

or a paw placed in our hand?   

Who hasn’t been rendered a tattered

and torn favorite toy, as if to say,

“This is one of my favorite things.

It will make you feel better.” 

We must have taken notice

that when the lights are finally

turned off at night, that it is our

beloved companion that makes

one more sweep of the room or home,

and when all is deemed secure and safe,

with a sigh of contentment their soul rests.  

And, we wonder what forms the bond …