Deborah A. Jaeger's Blog

Taking the Time...to Rewind

It's been about 550 days (or so) since I last wrote a blog. That's not to say I haven't been writing. I just haven't been writing a blog. What I've been doing is fixing. For me. Before I was able move forward, I needed to retrace my steps a little bit.

It's hard to believe it's been over two years since my first novel was published. Prophecy~the Fulfillment . The story of Stephen and Jillian took over two years to write. It has been a visceral learning experience in more ways than one. And I love it. All of it.  Reviews and ratings left me sometimes elated and sometimes deflated, but always inspired because someone somewhere, read my work and took the time to write down their thoughts and opinions. Even the snarky bits taught me something about myself. And though I was working on my second novel, I kept thinking back to Prophecy. It was never far from my  mind. There were so many things I learned after it was published. I wondered what would happen if I went back and took care of the things that were bothering me about the first novel before I finished the next one (which is now very much tugging at me!) To try and make it the best it could be.

Not because I'm not proud of Prophecy as it was originally written, but because I just couldn't let it go. I wasn't ready. I discovered I still had work to do. And plus I have O.C.D.. Really.

So...I decided (with a little much-needed encouragement) to take the plunge. I was given the opportunity and decided to allow myself a once-in-a-writing-career whopper of a do-over. So...

I changed the name of the novel to... The Last Summer of Ordinary Times .
I redesigned the cover and made it a paperback (less expensive)
I added a few chapters.
I removed a few chapters.
I fixed some goof-ups.
I fixed some awkward dialogue.
I changed (gulp) the ending...to leave myself some room to expand and finish the story of Stephen and Jillian. (For all of you who have asked about the sequel--it's in the pipeline!)

After all the changes...guess what I discovered? The sky did not fall! I can breathe again. And take everything I've learned from my first experience and apply it from this point forward. I'll finish novel number two with a clear conscience, because now, the characters in novel number one have quieted.

When my next book is released...there will be no looking back. No more do-overs. What you're thinking is very  important to the part of me that wants you to love my stories as much as I do. After all, a book is an extension of a writer's innermost thoughts... it happens to be our imagination floating around for anyone to love or hate or anything in-between. An offering. It's really scary to put it all out there. For you. And your thoughts and opinions are valued. You matter.

So, thank you...for taking the time.  Whether you liked Prophecy~the Fulfillment or not...whether you decide to read the story again to compare, or The Last Summer of Ordinary Times for the first time, or not at all, thanks for bearing with me. And if you took the time to review  Prophecy in the past, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'm taking a leap of faith here and I know it.

Now, back to work! I left someone in a forest somewhere...

Prophecy~the Fulfillment is available in hardcover and Ebook. 
The Last Summer of Ordinary Times is available in Paperback and Ebook.

                                                                                   
                              
Until next time.
Debbie

Ebook versions of The Last Summer of Ordinary Times and Prophecy~the Fulfillment will be offered free through Amazon from April 6-10.

Big G...Until We Meet Again

I will always remember that he noticed the beauty. His photos bear witness to that. The sunlight filtering through the branches of the trees. The sparkling waters of the Little Manistee River, the fish running upstream or downstream or whatever it is that fish do. The spectacular everyday gift of the sunrise, the subdued beauty of every sunset. He loved his life. He was present.

He was, and will continue to be, so much a part of so many people.

A son. He loved his momma and missed his dad. Spent precious time with them on the water's edge, and marveled at God's gift of the world. He knew where he began.

A proud father who loved his kids with the daddy part of his whole heart, and an even prouder grandpa...the precious lives that were so special to him...a small child held high, captured in strong arms..."I'm right here, you're safe with me."  The way it is supposed to be.

A big brother. Dependable. Always there. Ups and downs. Laughter and tears. I can imagine the memories that will bubble to the surface, unique only to siblings, childhood stories embellished or softened by time.

Most of all, a husband....so in love with his wife. Inseparable, one heart, best friends and confidantes. His 'ying' to her 'yang.' If she reached for something in the kitchen, he was already handing it to her. His eyes would follow her across a crowded room, quietly searching for a glimpse, and only then, a slight nod...yes, all is right with the world...he could go on about the business of the day. This, I was witness to. Ordinary. Spectacular. A soft touch, a whispered word, a shared joke, a bond that will never be broken. Husband.

My cousin Gary was a gentle man. He could make a strong point with a soft-spoken phrase. A sense of humor and quick wit. When he entered a room, he carried with him a calming presence. If he ever raised his voice, I never heard it...perhaps his children could better speak to that.

It's hard to understand why things like this happen. It's hard to find words for feelings that threaten to overwhelm. You don't even know what you need, or what to ask for. Peace?...Solace?...Comfort? Sometimes, in your grief, you just have to let your unspoken thoughts flow up to heaven without forming a prayer...God, please...

I've looked, again and again, at all the pictures he posted, and read the words he wrote to capture what he was feeling as he snapped each photo. His clever, witty comments. What I've come away with is a comfort of sorts. Here was a man at peace with himself, his life, his love. Sweet, funny, and sometimes philosophical, he noticed the beauty. And he honored it. 

Even now, I imagine that somewhere in heaven, there is a gentle, burly man wearing a wide brimmed hat, scanning the earth, searching, and then nodding his head ever so slightly before he turns to carry on with the business of the day. 

Husband, son, father, grandfather, brother, uncle, nephew, cousin, friend. Beloved. We will miss you more than I could ever hope to find words for here. There will always be just one more thing we wish we would have said to you. But I know that you can hear us now. We are grateful for you, that you celebrated your life with us, that you loved us, you saw us, and even more grateful that you leave a part of yourself with us, that you will never really be too far away.

We love you Big G.

Until we meet again.

Debbie

"I will not forget you...I have held you in the palm of my hand." Isaiah 49:15
 

Ghost Town...

All across America...Ghost Town.
This morning, the sun rises upon the same neighborhoods that were a bustle of activity only a short while ago. A few houses down the street, a lone sprinkler whirs, it's sound slicing through the early morning silence. There is no sign of life at the community pool. A few stray leaves skim across the surface of the water, a pair of cast off goggles dangle from a chair, a deflated raft and a Scooby-Doo beach towel lay forgotten on the concrete deck.

These steamy pre-fall days usher in a much different feeling. No screen door slamming. No melting Popsicles on the patio. No skate boards left behind on the driveway. No wet bathing suits on the bedroom floor. Wait a minute...you can almost hear it. A collective, maternal sigh of relief.

THE KIDS ARE BACK IN SCHOOL!!

Relish this moment. An order to the day. Last minute vacations behind you. You emerged victorious in your manic hunt for the ever-elusive school supplies, and then, when you finally located everything on your child's list, you survived the twenty-five minute wait in line at the discount store to pay for everything, without biting, kicking, screaming or otherwise harming anyone in line with you . All now...a distant memory. The alarm sounding at 6:30, a five minute mommy-shower, and then, everybody up and at 'em. "No, I don't know where your yellow folder is. Look under the cushion on the family room couch where you hid it last night to keep it away from your brother."

"Eat your cereal."

"Brush your teeth."

Shoes and socks on, lunch boxes fully loaded, back-packs standing ready at the front door. "Yes, Bobby can come over after school for a play-date. No, you can't be a car rider today. Good, you found your folder. What do you mean, here are the 25 papers I have to fill out for your teacher and you have to turn it in today!!!!"

And then, finally, finally , it's time to head out the door to the corner and watch, in mommy ecstasy, as the big yellow school bus comes around the corner.

"Bye, guys. (smooch, smooch) Have a great day!! Yes, I'll record Dragon Ball Z while you're at school. Love you! See ya later!!"

Quiet. Seven Hours. A second cup of coffee. I'm thinking I might read the paper from front to back to front again. I'll talk on the phone for an hour without interruption. I'll start a new book. I'll order a movie and watch it from start to finish...in one sitting. I may straighten things up around the house and go solo to the grocery store. No one playing hide-and-seek in the produce aisle..."Clean-up on aisle seven! (Well, anyway, no one who belongs to me!)

The first few weeks of a new school year. Enjoy them well. The kids are excited and maybe just a little bit nervous. All of the unknowns about a new grade, a new teacher, and maybe even a new school ("Who will I sit next to?"), will slowly, but surely, give way to a new found confidence.

Your days will be filled with all of the fall undertakings. The volunteer work begins, the piano lessons, the birthday parties, gymnastics, the homework, the fundraising. Football, soccer, fall baseball. The fabric of our communities, our families, our lives.

But for now, for these first few days, exhale. Slowly. Walk yourself right on through the morning mess and grab another cup of coffee as you head out to the back porch. Sit outside for awhile and bask in the glory of this beautiful day. Try not to think about anything. That unfamiliar sound you hear, is silence, and with it comes permission to daydream for a while. Take it from me...those moments are precious. And fleeting.

Then, as if on cue, the phone rings.

"Hello? His lunchbox? Yes, I see it right here on the counter. I'll be right over."

The kid's are back in school.

Until next time,
Debbie
 
(I wrote this in August, 2000. It seems like only yesterday. I can still smell the peanut butter! I remember watching the clock, eagerly waiting for them to come back home at the end of the day, waiting to hear all about their adventures. Enjoy this time in your life. It really is fleeting. Soon they will be heading off to college, getting married, walking their own children to the bus-stop! And you will still be watching the clock...waiting for them to come home again.)

 

Water The World...

It's been hot. Really hot. The heat has taken its toll on all of us. "Heat Advisory is in Effect" has been the lead-in to weather reports on most of the morning news shows lately. My youngest son hears, from me, a litany of reasons why running five miles after classes may not be such a good idea. I've grown accustomed to the rolling of his eyes as I once again recite, verbatim, the amount of water he must consume for every 20 minutes of outside activity.

As I sit at my window and write, I look out upon a lawn that begs for a good soaking. Lloyd, having made the decision after opening the last water bill, that the turf will have to survive on once a week watering. And my poor roses.

"Honey, how often do you have the sprinkler set to water the flower beds?"

"I told you, I set everything for once a week. The grass will just go dormant until it starts to rain again."

"I know, but it's really, really brown. And crispy. And the roses are dying. All I see in the beds are stems with thorns. The leaves have fallen off. There are no buds. No new growth."

I dare not mention that on his regularly scheduled watering day this week, it finally rained, the sprinkler heads whirring happily away during a downpour.

"What color are the stems?"

"Green."

"They're alive."

"Llooyyydd."

"Okay, okay. I'll water the beds..."

"Every morning. Set the sprinkler for every morning until they perk up."

"Debbie..."

"Every morning."

"Okay. I'll set it for every morning...but only until they perk up. Then it's twice a week. And only the flower beds."

And so we go ...day after day of unprecedented heat. I move slowly from the car to the house, already in need of air conditioning after even the short walk to the mailbox and back. The dogs don't even lift their heads when I move past their leashes hanging in the hallway. It's too hot to sit outside on the porch when Lloyd gets home from work, even with the ceiling fan. We must catch up on our days, sitting inside, in the kitchen, where it's cool and dark, the curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun. Temperatures hovering in the upper nineties, the heat index (what is that, anyway?) higher still. Any day now, it will rain. Any day now.

Because we are inside to escape the heat of the late afternoon, we watch the early evening news. Anderson Cooper (sigh) is in Somalia, covering the crisis in the Horn of Africa. Oh my God...

Our world has become much smaller. My son will hop on a plane this week to visit his sister in California. I have friends in Alaska, on a cruise. Other friends leaving for Europe and yet others, the Orient. One of my neighbors has a young daughter who has chosen to live in Uganda, has created a life there, a family, and giving glory to God, lives a ministry, empowering and changing lives, amazing things accomplished at such a young age. Mighty things. I follow her journey on facebook and watch in amazement as her friends from the States talk about their visits with this remarkable young woman and the impact of a giving heart. One person making a huge difference. This next generation already realizing. The world is much smaller now.

On our doorstep...a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions is happening right now in East Africa. The severe drought has forced thousands upon thousands of refugees to seek help in the camps, many traveling weeks to get there, where meager supplies, food, water, medicine are being metered out by exhausted aid workers, who watch helplessly as many of the people who have come to the camps for help, die.

And the children. The United States estimates that at least 29,000 children have died in the past 90 days in Somalia. 29,000 mothers whose arms are empty tonight. 29,000 mothers who have walked for days and weeks in temperatures exceeding 110 degrees, with little food and no water. Desperately seeking help for their babies. THINK OF IT. Day after day. The merciless heat of the desert air. Listening helplessly to the cries of their children. Walking hundreds of miles, the weight of a child in their arms, the weight of despair. No means to comfort, except lullabies and silent tears. No diapers. No bottles. Breast milk has long since dried up. No cool shower at the end of the day. No bath before bedtime, no nourishment. So dehydrated, their tiny babies cry without tears. Many, so weak, they cannot cry at all. Some of these women have given birth on the journey. Pleading for help. Someone? Anyone. Can you hear me?

29,000 mounds in the dry desert sand, children whose lives have been marked by the twigs and stones that identify their graves.

Our neighbors. The world has grown too small for any of us to pretend we can't hear their desperate pleas for help. The same technology that brings us the internet, has brought these people into our living rooms. We watch the news while we eat our dinner. We shake our heads. We are fortunate to live in a land where our lawns are green, and our children have water and food. Are we poor? Some of us. Yes. Some of us. No. But most have. At least. Enough.

The eyes of the world ... watching...and the people of Somalia just need water. Need. Water. Food. Medicine. Now.

29,000 children.

The rains will eventually come to the Horn of Africa, maybe in October. Three more months. The refugees pour into the already over-burdened camps by the thousands. Daily. Children and the weak, die by the hundreds. Daily. It will take years for them to recover from the ravages of this drought. 29,000 more children will perish in three months. Unless...

"Don't look at me. I don't have money."
Yes you do. A dollar is enough to send.
"How do I know the money gets to the people who need it ? How do I know it won't be squandered ?"
You send it to a reputable agency, and then you let God worry about the rest.
"I heard that the aid can't get through the rebel forces."
I've heard that it is making it through. It has to make it through.
"I'm only one person...what difference can I make?"
A young woman in Uganda has taught me that one person makes ALL the difference.
"We have children going hungry in America."
Yes, we do. And we should donate something here, too.
"I don't have time right now-maybe tomorrow."
You spent 10 minutes reading this. You have time.
"I don't know where to begin...I don't how to help."
If you have access to a computer, you can help.
It's easy. I did it this morning.

www.abcnews.com/help

There are several links to different organizations on the site. You can choose one that you feel comfortable donating to. It's easier than ordering a shirt at Macy's.

Money is not the root of all evil. Money can help spread resources to places where we can't physically send food and water. Money can be the root of something good too.

I've tried to figure out how many people would benefit if I let my roses fend for themselves. If I let the grass grow dormant. If I let God take care of all of that. If I drank water from the faucet instead of a bottle. It makes me sad to think of the numbers. Of how easily I could have been redistributing those resources.

I've tried to figure out how many people, like me, just don't realize. Just don't understand the magnitude of what is happening. I've tried to imagine the enormous facebook network and how we could use it to spread the word like wildfire...how a simple link on our profile pages, shared to the pages of our friends...could water the world.

So I am asking you to please share this blog on your page, and ask that your friends share it, too. And if not the blog...please copy and paste the link below, with a plea of your own:

www.abcnews.com/help

We can do so much to ease the suffering. We can, in an instant, water the world.

Jeremiah 31: 15-17

Rachel is weeping for her children;
   she refuses to be comforted for her children,
   because they are no more.

16 Thus says the Lord:
Keep your voice from weeping,
   and your eyes from tears;
for there is a reward for your work,

   they shall come back from the land of the enemy;

17 there is hope for your future,

Until Next Time,

Debbie

And He's Off....

It didn't float. It fell. Hard.
We were sitting on the back porch, having our Sunday morning cup of coffee...when it happened. An object fell from somewhere above (we do have a window ledge above the patio, so it may have originated there) to the outside patio, below. Not at all sure what could have made such a spectacular entrance, at first I was too startled to react.  

Jackson, (the eleven year old dog who thinks he is still a puppy), was the first to recover...around the same time I realized that our uninvited visitor was a teeny tiny baby bird. A just-learning-how-to-spread-its-wings-and-fly, teeny tiny baby bird. Not that Jack would have eaten it or anything, but he does like to play and we've all watched him put his stuffed animals in his mouth and toss them around the kitchen like his life depends on it. It's really cute to watch...but they are stuffed after all, and this little creature wasn't.

Josie, (sweet sleepy Josie), lifted her head up and yawned, not yet realizing that we had a visitor. The ninety degree heat does that to a girl. She languishes on the tile, or any cool surface, to try to get out of the heat. She's only outside with us because she loves to be anywhere we are. Not that she approves. She actually prefers the air conditioning vents on the bathroom floor tile, but, oh well, these humans...what do they know.

Lloyd was reading the paper. Oblivious to the drama.

"Honey, get the dogs in the house." I rouse myself from my caffeine stupor, long enough to realize our uninvited little guest is only seconds away from Jackson's inquisitive snout.

"What's the matter?" My prince looks up from his morning paper.

"Hurry up....before they get wind of ...bird..." Pointing, I simultaneously grab Jack's collar and say the magic word to get him into the house. "Cookie!"

Both dogs jump to attention, and scurry through the back door before my knight in shining armor even has time to fold the crossword puzzle and set in on top of the sports section.

"What's going on?"

"A baby bird...fell...out of the sky...look...!

The little fluff of feathers was awkwardly trying to spread his uncooperative wings and fly far, far away from this madhouse...but couldn't quite complete the maneuver. Couldn't stand up.

"Lloyd...I think he broke something. Oh, no...who do we call?"

"Honey...I don't think we can do anything. I don't know."

Not wanting, nor willing, to give up...I did the only thing I knew how to do. I looked at my husband and said...

"Fix him."

Now Lloyd is a pretty game guy, always willing to go the extra mile, shirt off his back and all that, but fixing a baby bird...out of his realm...maybe.

"I know...we can make a little nest for him. I'll get a plastic bowl, and you fill it with nesting stuff, and we can put him up out of the dogs reach and feed him until he is strong enough to fly away. Please?" I looked at my husband and he (realizing there was no way out of this...for him or the bird) nodded twice.

He reached for the bowl, "What do you want me to fill it with?"

"I don't know. Grass...leaves..."

I filled one little cup with bird seed from the feeder and  another with water. I got to thinking about how we all need a little fixing sometimes. A kind word, a hug, a flower left on a doorstep, a body cast. How it's up to all of us to lend a hand, to reach out, to help mend a body...a spirit. A wing. We've all been there. That dark place. That place where all you need is a little light to help you find your way through.

"How does this look?" My very own master carpenter handed me a bowl that was nested perfectly. He has never built a house that looked so safe and sturdy. A mansion fit for our little fellow.

"How do we get him in here?" I looked at Lloyd expectantly.

"I don't know. I thought you could do it."

"Okay...I will. Do I need gloves so my smell doesn't freak him out?"

"Maybe."

I went in and got a pair of gloves and when I came back out, I said a little prayer that I didn't give him a heart attack or anything. Little birdie was right where we left him. Watched me coming at him...I think I might have been cooing. Okay...I know I was. Cooing. Reaching down...

That teeny tiny thing took one look at those white gloved hands coming towards him and his little wings sprang into action. He not only flew, he flew to the top of the highest tree in the woods behind our house.

Lloyd and I looked at each other.

"It's a miracle!"

Now, I don't know whether that little guy fell from the ledge or fell out of the sky. All I know is he came down like a ton of bricks. Like we all do. Sometimes. And sometimes all you need is someone to care enough to make a nest...a soft place to land. A word of encouragement. A smile. A hand up. Sometimes that's enough. Sometimes that's all there is.

We may not have all the answers, we may not always know how things will turn out, but we have everything we need to make a difference.

An whatever would I do without you?

Until Next Time,
Debbie

Over the Rainbow...

What is faith? Is it believing and being sure of something even when we can't see it? Is it knowing that we will be okay...no matter what? Knowing that we are being watched over and protected. Do we carry our faith with us without even thinking about it, or must we make a conscious decision to believe. And if we believe and have faith in God and in ourselves, why do we still spend so much time consumed with worry?

If we are skeptical, or choose not to believe and we don't have faith...are the things that work out for us, against all odds, just a happy coincidence?

Easter fell later this year. April 24, 2011. With two sons going to college in different states, each with the same end-of -year-get-out-of-the-dorm deadline, my husband and I sometimes have to juggle. We were juggling our way to Illinois on the Good Friday evening of Easter weekend, when somewhere between Kentucky and Indiana, the storms hit. Bad storms. The kind of storms where you can feel the power outside the car and you dare not say a word inside the car. The tail-lights ahead of you have all but disappeared behind a solid curtain of water.The air is heavy. Heart-pounding heavy, and you clutch the handhold and pray. The kind of storms that only happen when there is not an exit for another 20 miles. Nowhere to go.

"Why do I feel like we are weaving all over the road?"

"It's just the water on the road. It's okay. I'm only going 40." Which speaks volumes in itself when my own personal Mario Andretti slows down on the open road to a mere 40 miles per hour.

A huge bolt of lightning streaks across the sky just then, and I keep my eyes trained straight ahead, holding on for dear life...and, of course, praying all the while under my breath. St. Joseph, can you hear me now?

"Lloyd, are you nervous?" Of course, after 23 years of marriage, my husband knows there's only one correct answer.

"No, honey. It's just rain." And we go on. Eventually, we make our way through the storm and the skies calm.

When we finally arrive at the hotel and turn on the weather report, I shudder when I think about what might of happened. An F-4 tornado had ripped through St Lois that night and the same line of storms raced across the Ohio Valley as we made our way toward Illinois. But we were okay. Safe. Dry.

We spent Saturday with Matt, an "Easter visit" spent taking him out to eat, a movie, some bowling, a trip to Target, and just enjoying our precious time together. Our trip culminated with the loading of our car...packing a lot of his "stuff." We were bringing it home with us, leaving just the necessities in his dorm room, so that as soon as he finished his final exams, he could easily stow the remainder in his car and head home right away.
 
Early Easter morning, (smooch, smooch...see you in a couple weeks) the hubby and I are back in the car and on our way home to Tennessee in time for Easter dinner with Kevin. Our plan. Oh yes. Our plan.

There are many stretches between Nashville and Champaign, where long miles of highway between exits is the norm. The kind of distances that prompt Lloyd to look at me and ask "Do you need to stop?" before we zoom past the last potty opportunity for at least 20 miles.

A beautiful dawn on Easter morning...the sun is shining, and we zip along, light traffic, making great time. I'm feeling a little dozey and content, and we're talking about the things you talk about when you have been married forever, when my husband casually makes an announcement.

"Hmmm. That's weird."

"What's weird?"  I instantly perk up, sleepy no longer, my attention mode suddenly shifting into high alert. (Danger...danger. It's a woman thing. Or maybe just a Debbie thing. I don't know. It's automatic. Instinctive.)

"The gauge says low tire pressure on the left rear tire."

"What does that mean? Do you think we have a flat?"

Frantic, I try to get my bearings...did we pass the last exit before...you know...the dreaded 'no exit' zone? I  have a sudden vision of the two of us, on the shoulder of the interstate, surrounded by all of Matthew's belongings while my husband rummages in the trunk for the teeny spare and changes a flat tire on the shoulder of the interstate. All this while huge semi's are barreling toward us doing 80 miles an hour.

"I'm not sure. I have the reading pulled up. We'll keep an eye on it for a while... we can add air at the next exit."

Two seconds later..."What does it say now?"

"24 psi"

"What's normal?"

"Around 30 psi"

"So, maybe we do just need a little air."

"We'll keep close watch and if it gets any lower, the next time we stop for gas we'll fix her right up."

"How about if we just plan right now to stop at the very next exit to get air...and if you want to, you can top off the tank at the same time." I only make this pointed suggestion because my husband has been known to wait until the gas gauge is in the red...no... past the red. Way past the red. Let's just say 'On-star' has been worth every penny to the Jaeger family.

"Uh-oh."

"What does uh-oh mean? You can't just say uh-oh and not tell me what it means!! We have a situation here!"

"22 psi...21 psi."

"Lloyd. Look! An exit in 1 mile. TAKE IT!

"I will...at the very least we can find a place to pump up the tire and...it's going down pretty fast...18psi.

You have all seen the exit. It's the one that you DON"T stop at. The one where there is not a golden arch in sight. Where you aren't even sure why there is an exit, only you figure it's because the people who live in the area need a point somewhere to get off the highway. The exit that empties onto a little country road. But the sign says there are TWO gas stations. Manna. Even though the sign that says 'Gas Station' is hanging by one screw. That's okay. We are at least heading in the right direction. Off the highway.

And then we are waiting. Sitting at the stop sign. Idling at the bottom of the exit ramp as we wait...for TRAFFIC.  Probably the only three cars in the whole town that are on the road this early on Easter morning. At this precise moment in time, they are slowly making their way into the intersection. We are losing tire pressure by the second. No choice but to wait for this tiny burst of activity to mosey on up the highway so we can hobble off the exit ramp. Friendly wave to us as they pass. They turn. Thank you.

"15 psi...14 psi"

"Well, at least we are finally off the interstate. Maybe we can find some of that flat tire fixer that you spray into the tire."

"Uh-oh."

"Now what?" I follow his gaze to the gas station on the right. At least that's what it used to be. Before the windows were boarded up. And the pumps removed. I swear I see a tumbleweed roll across the empty parking lot.

"One-stop! Over there. On the left. One-Stop Convenience Station. And they are open! I think I 'm going to cry! Let's pray for an air pump."

My husband gallantly maneuvers the limping Impala into the lot. 

"9 psi"

I am so relieved to be anywhere but on the interstate that at this point, I don't even care.

"Keep going around...look! Over there, against the building. Free air! (Although by this time we would have gladly paid for air! Paid a lot!)

Lloyd gets out and fills the starving tire ...and then we watch helplessly as it spits the precious commodity right back out. We are parked on a puddle, (a remnant from the storm, I'm sure) so, it is quite obvious from the bubbling of the water below it that this tire is not to be saved. My husband falls to his knees on the concrete (not to pray...although maybe he did that too, I don't know) and feels around to the back of the tire. He straightens up, slowly.

"It's bad. Really bad. The whole inside of the tire is shot...shredded. No fixing this one." He repeats the process on the other three tires. Turns out the other rear tire is in the same shape. One teeny-tiny spare. One trunk loaded clear into the back seat with most of Matthew's earthly belongings. Miles from nowhere. Easter Sunday. Should be in church right now.

"Is that why we were weaving all over the road on Friday night?"

"I would say so."

"Let me go in and ask if there's a Sears or something around here. Before we On-star."

"Okay...we aren't going anywhere anytime soon, that's for sure."

The couple standing behind the counter of the One-Stop Convenience Station looked up when they heard the bell on the door ring as I entered the store. I explained our dire situation, and asked if there was a mall or anything close by where we might be able to get help.

"Well, ma'am, I don't know about that, but I reckon you could call Chris over yonder. I s'pose he would probably come over and help ya'll out."

"Who's Chris?"

"He runs the towing service next door. Sells tires, too."

"Really? I mean, REALLY ?"

I went back outside.

"Honey, you are not going to believe this...turn around."

There, about 50 yards away, in all it's exquisitely beautiful, run- down, out- in- the- middle- of- nowhere glory, was the Sunshine Towing Yard and Services. And one of those services happened to be tires. If this were a movie, the sky would open and a ray of light would shine down right about then. A chorus of angels would sing, the music would crescendo.

Yessirree. One of those services happened to be tires. Lloyd called the number on the side of one of the trucks and, lo and behold, Chris left his warm cozy home on that beautiful Easter Morning and met us at the One-Stop within fifteen minutes. Not only did 'Chris' have two used tires he very happily put on the back of our Impala, he also invited us over for Easter Dinner ( which we respectfully declined). In the space of one hour, in the middle of nowhere, we had our emergency, it was resolved and we were back on the highway and headed for Nashville. Safely. With two of the most beautiful used tires you have ever seen, perfectly installed on the back of our car.

Now, I don't know about you, but  'what if?'

What if one of those shredded tires had blown during those horrible storms we drove through on our trip North just two days before?

What if it had happened when our son was with us?

What if the gauge had not warned Lloyd a few miles before we approached the last exit for 20 miles?

What if there were no gas stations at that little country exit? I mean what are the chances?

And what are the chances that a little towing yard was right next to the only gas station in the middle of nowhere, that also had two used tires that fit our car, and a sweet man named Chris who was willing to leave the heavenly smell of Easter Dinner bubbling on the stove, to help two strangers, who were just passing through.

A happy coincidence? Or faith in action? You be the judge.

For me, always...I believe that we are never alone. That we are never isolated. That there is a silver lining in every cloud. A rainbow at the end of every storm. It's okay to be scared sometimes. But that's when it's even more important to have faith. There is nothing so random as to go unnoticed or prove impossible for God.

Faith. That things happen just the way they are supposed to happen.

To paraphrase Hebrews 11:1
"Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we can't see."

Perhaps poet Patrick Overton says it best in his Faith Poem:


Faith




When you walk to the edge of all the light you have

and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,

you must believe that one of two things will happen:

There will be something solid for you to stand upon,

or, you will be taught how to fly

 

© Patrick Overton

The Leaning Tree, 1975

Rebuilding the Front Porch of America, 1997






Until Next Time,
Debbie

 






 

Mother

Mother's Day.  Another year. I think of Peggy...again...and wonder what she would be like today. My mom. What would she think of her daughters...her sons...her grandchildren...her great grandchildren. The world. What advice would she offer, invited for or not, about what I was doing or thinking or feeling? And would I listen today any more than I listened when she was here, with me? Oh Momma, do you know how much I miss you? Your voice, your smell, your hands?

I remember, so well, a multitude of little things. I remember her washing our hair in the kitchen sink when we were little. I remember her sitting outside the back door in a lawn chair on summer evenings, in her mu-mu...that long summer dress that she made for herself. Her love for sewing. I can still picture her head bent over the task at hand, watching as she guided the fabric slowly, patiently, toward the needle of her sewing machine, the gentle whir of the motor, background noise at our house. I remember the smell of baby powder on hot summer days, and the smell of 'clean'
once a week when the house was worked over from top to bottom.

And her baking. I can still picture the mixing bowl on the kitchen counter, full of flour and eggs and butter, sitting there until the butter was just the right consistency for her to blend into dough for her famous oatmeal and molasses cookies. I remember her casseroles, tuna noodle or macaroni and beef. She made a perfect roast, and, though she didn't care for mashed potatoes, hers were the best I've ever tasted. I remember that she liked tuna but couldn't stand fish...and vanilla was her favorite flavor of ice cream.

I remember running away from school in the first grade so that I could be with her...I was so afraid that something would happen to her while I was gone. And  thinking that I, at six, could protect her forever, just by my presence. And when I got home, I remember her lying across the bed, sobbing...the weight of my need for her almost more than she could bear.

I remember her hands. Rubbing Vicks on my chest when I had a cold. Playing with my hair while we watched television, or sat outside. Playing pat-a-cake with her grandchildren, mixing dough for pie crust, the pieces of raw pastry clinging to her skin. I have a picture of her and I, taken when I was a baby, and her smile lights up the frame, but what I notice most is that her arms are wrapped around me...and her hands are holding mine, my pudgy little baby fingers clutching hers in such a way, that I already know that she is everything to me, at that precious moment in time.

 I remember sitting next to her in church, listening to her sing, she had such a pretty voice...in church it sounded much different than the whispered softness of the lullabies she would sing to us while perched on the side of our bed at night. I remember the Michigan summer, sweltering...the wading pool in the driveway...her plopping right down in the middle of it...she, also, looking for some relief from the heat.  

Coming home from school, finding her laying on the sofa, engrossed in her latest find from the library...her glasses perched on the end of her nose, or on top of her head. I would lay my head on the sofa next to her, and watch her turn the pages, her hand would wander to my hair, she would stroke...until it was time to turn the next page. I would take in her face, her cheeks, her lashes, her nose...indelibly imprinted to this day, into my memory. Her mother beauty.

And I remember causing you so much pain, Mary Margaret, in my teen years. How was I to understand then, that mother really did know best? We had our crankiness...our battles. But you were always there, in spite of everything. Knowing what all mother's know. We can be there for our children...but must let them discover for themselves the ways of the world. And then be there to pick them up and dust them off. How did you know that, Mom? That I would learn the lesson in my own time? That I had to push you away in order to find myself?

When I was older, with a family of my own, I remember her coming over to help me cut bushes in the yard. I remember a branch scratched her eye. But she kept working. Funny the things you recall. Reading to my children, them in their jammies, curled up in the corner of the sofa...snuggled next to her, hanging on her every word.

Her own mother died when she was twelve...I can't even imagine. Who was there to comfort her and teach her as she grew into a woman? She mothered her younger brother and sister...and then married Daddy and had six children of her own. Why can't I remember their love story? Why don't I know how my parent's met? Fell in love? Why didn't I know to ask the important questions then, while I still had her, while she was here and I could hold her hand?

Caught up in my own world as a teen. Then married and children of my own. Everything else seemed so important that I forgot that little things are the things that really matter. In the long run.

There are so many things I would like to ask you, Mom. I still have so many questions. I miss you more at this  age I think, than ever before. And there are so many things I want you to know...about how it all turned out.

I wish I could still run to you today...and find you at home, waiting for me.

I wish I could have prevented your leaving us much too soon... loving you wasn't enough to protect you, after all.

I believe you are still here...with me in some way. I feel you sometimes, the softest breeze against my skin...the feeling I have of not being alone. I think you hear me when I talk to you...at least I like to believe you can. If only to hear the things I wish I had said to you then. When I really could hold your hand.

I am so proud to be your daughter.

I love you, mommy.

I miss you.

Happy Mother's Day.

Love,
Debbie

"Ain't No Mountain High Enough..."

Wednesday.
It started innocently enough. Kevin had the afternoon off. No school. Yippee! Especially savory to him because Matthew did not have the day off. Brothers. And love.

"Mom, ppleeeaaase let's go to Happy Tales...you PROMISED next time we had a day off we could go."

Happy Tails is an animal shelter that fosters dogs until they are adopted. No matter how long it takes. They also visit the county animal shelters to scoop up as many dogs as they can possibly find foster homes for.

"Your brother will be SO mad. Why don't we wait and go on the weekend?'

"Ppleeeaaase!"

Call it 'working mother syndrome', or call it the 'I never get to spend time with the kids one-on-one guilt trip', or call it 'I have a laundry room full of laundry and the bathrooms need cleaning but it's spring and it's seventy outside and I don't want to be in here doing this'...Call it anything you want...but I caved .

Happy Tails is located in an old mattress factory in Franklin, Tennessee. It's called, appropriately, The Factory. Lot's of little shops and restaurants have turned it into an adorable old factory...if there is such a thing. We walked through the door with much anticipation on my younger son's part...and were greeted with...cats. Lot's of them. Now, I'm a cat lover too, but unfortunately they make my husband weep. Literally. He's so allergic that just by walking into a room with one in close proximity does him in. And he's a sucker for animals. So he wants to pet them. Not a good situation.

"I'm sorry. We don't have any dogs here today...they have all been all fostered. But there are a few at the animal shelter that are on borrowed time. You should go visit."

The woman at Happy Tails was sweet and very helpful and convincing, so Kevin and I got back into the car and off we went to find the county animal shelter.

We could hear them as soon as we opened the door. They knew we were there. Barking and wagging their tales. Pick me. Pick me. The animal shelter has a fenced yard so the animals can go out into the back and you can interact with them and watch them play. They have a huge tub of water out there for the dogs to drink from. We spent over an hour visiting and took several animals outside to spend more time with them. They were all sweet and every one of them had a story. My heart was alternately full and broken several times that afternoon. But we already had a dog at home. Practically still a puppy. Jackson had been with us for a year, and he was a spunky, sweet and lovable ball of fur. A handful. Part of the family.

But there she was.

This sweet little shepherd mix had a beautiful face and would not leave our side. She was different in some way. Quiet. Wanted to be petted and loved. Pick me. Pick me.

Thursday.
After school. Matthew.
"But it's not fair. You took Kevin yesterday and I want to go, too!"

"Okay, you two. We'll go back today, but, and let me repeat myself, BUT, we are NOT getting another dog. You fooled me once with the "I'll take care of it" and it seems to me that I am the one that feeds and waters and walks Jackson" (although I have to admit that I'm the one that fell the hardest for that little bug). We are only going to visit. Don't get any crazy ideas!"

So, there we were, three of us now, back in the car to retrace our steps to the animal shelter. A couple hours spent playing with animals that had looked at us from behind caged walls, full of hope, tails wagging, crying, barking, begging for someone to touch them. Love them. If only for a moment. Pick me. Pick me.

And there she was.

Again, that little shepherd did not leave our side. The other dogs ran and played and sniffed and explored, but she stayed with us. Loving us, part of our family for at least a few minutes on a spring afternoon. Both boys looked at me, with THAT look. 

"But we already have Jackson, and I work, and you two are in school...and what if they don't get along, and who's going to clean up the yard?"

Friday.
Lloyd got home early from work.
Lloyd and I, Matthew, Kevin and a very excited, wiggly, black ball of fur named Jackson, piled into the car for yet another trip to the animal shelter. Five of us now. After all, Lloyd and Jackson needed to see what all the hoopla was about.

They brought her out into the yard for us.

She came right over, and sat with her head bowed, waiting to be touched, waiting to be assured that we were really there. She and Jackson noticed each other then, and each sniffed the other in that 'get to know another dog' kind of way.

And then something miraculous happened. She 'tagged' Jackson with her front paw and leaped into action, running the length of the yard. He took off after her and as he approached, she swerved, turning to run in the opposite direction. He followed close behind her, his puppy body keeping up as best he could. She came upon the water tub, and as she ran by, reached into the tub with her paw and swiped through the water, sending a sparkling spray high into the air, to rain down over little Jack, who was following close at her heels. She turned around and they did it all again, this new game, this dance of pure joy played out on a warm spring afternoon. And only then, finally, did she come to a standstill, stopping once again in front of us, her captivated audience. We stood there for a minute, dazed, delighted, amazed and in awe. She and a slightly soggy Jackson, nudged and licked each other a few times, and without a word spoken, we knew.

She was coming home.
 
The boys are in college now, and Jackson and Josie are getting old, and like us, it takes them a minute, when they get out of bed, to get the bodies moving. They are always happy to see us. Jackson is still Mr. Personality, and Josie is still Mother Hen, coming to the door and tattling on Jack when he finds a break in the electric fence. And though I complain sometimes about the dog hair and the mess of paw-prints on the floors when it rains, they follow me around this house like the boys did when they were toddlers, and I can't imagine our lives without them.

So, it seems that even after a line has been drawn in the sand, it is never too late to make a change. No doesn't always mean no, and the things that are meant to happen in our lives, will happen. Like Josie.

Open minds. Open hearts.

Until next time,
Debbie

Happy Birthday to...me!

Excuse me while I take a few moments to have my own little party. On the eve of my birthday. Down Memory Lane. You can come along if you'd like. You'll be strolling down that street yourself soon enough. I promise.

The south side of fifty or the north side of sixty. Any way you look at it...a little more than half a century. I am the same age my husband's mother was, when he took me home to meet her for the first time. It seems like only yesterday. I didn't think she could possibly know the depth of my love for her son. She was old, after all. Boy, was I off base. Because here I am today, the same age...and I'm YOUNG.

I remember so many things about the growing up years. My earliest memory is around age four. Bits and pieces of memory and feeling weave in and out of reality. Rocking to the music, singing my heart out while The Chipmunks played on my little record player and momma ironed in the background. She was such a captive audience!

Sunday afternoons.

"Debbie, don't wander off. We are leaving for Grandma's in a few minutes and we have to be there on time. If you wander you'll have to stay with Daddy."

Aunt Noreen and mom taking all of the cousins (six little ones between the two of them--easy enough to forget one!) to grandma's house (my FAVORITE place on earth).

Of course, I wandered. And running back home, I remember thinking...my chubby little legs pumping as fast as they could ...don't go without me...please...don't leave without me. Wanderlust even then. The horrible grief at finding that they had, in fact, gone on without me. They tried to wait, but ran out of time. The elation and relief I felt when Daddy lifted my crying, shuddering little self, and put me in the front seat of the car--(no seat-belts then!) between he and Uncle George, and we followed the women and their little entourage to Grandma's (by the time we arrived they had already been and gone) BUT, I made out. An ice cream cone on the way back home and I got to sit on daddy's lap (my hero!) and drive (steer) the car into the driveway. To this day I am never on time for anything (maybe some primal memory of that ice cream cone coming as a result of my dawdling?)

Through the years, there have been happy birthdays and not-so-happy birthdays. Happy memories and not.
When you celebrate for fifty seven years, you see a lot of things come and go. And nothing stays the same.
Thank goodness!

1954. The year I was born. The first kidney transplant. Elvis Presley's record was played on the radio for the first time. The 707 passenger jet was unveiled. The first issue of Sports Illustrated.  

"Lloyd, what are you reading."

"Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing."

The first Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition made its debut in February "1964". Legitimized the bikini. Not today's bikini, mind you! Actually modest by today's standards...but so daring for the day none the less.

Going to the cinema in the mid 50's was an event! Please tell me I am not the ONLY one who remembers the red velvet curtains that covered the screen. Remember? Anyone? Slowly closing again at intermission, part of the drama, the experience.

In 1954, Dial M for Murder (Hitchcock directed and beautiful Grace Kelly starred), On the Waterfront (Marlon Brando...one of the first 'bad boy heart throbs' of motion pictures), Sabrina (Humphrey Bogart and fragile, ethereal Audrey Hepburn), Rear Window (starring Jimmy Stewart (sigh) and Grace Kelly), a very good year for Alfred Hitchcock! And to this day, one of my all time personal favorites, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (a musical!).

I saw them all later, when they came out on television. Which was black and white in our house, until the late sixties. I grew up with Kukla, Fran and Ollie, I love Lucy, Jackie Gleason, Dragnet. Then came color television. We didn't have one until after many of our neighbors did, and I suffered from major envy! The consummate drama queen, even then. But, finally, aaahhh...Sonny and Cher, Ed Sullivan (Elvis, The Beatles,) The Monkeys, General Hospital. In technicolor. All on three networks. Today, we have our choice of over 500 channels, in HD, and almost nothing to watch. Reality shows are the norm now, although, we watched our favorite shows to escape from it!

In 1954, Chevrolet introduced the V-8. Windows down, radio cranked, you might have been listening to Bill Haley and the Comets, The Crew Cuts, The Four Tops, The Isley Brothers.

And on and on. So many things have changed in 57 years. We now have cell phones that  fit into the palm of our hands (unlike the ones of yesterday that were much like holding a brick to your ear--and came with a battery pack, no less!) These tiny devises now take videos and pictures. Some people don't even have a land line anymore. I still remember the corded phones, and I also remember stretching the cord until it was a curled and tangled mess, trying to get somewhere 'private' so I could giggle with my girlfriends.

The milkman...all but obsolete. The Good Humor Ice Cream truck, a distant memory. The Drive-In on Friday night, kids piled into the back of the station wagon with pillows and blankets, popcorn and hot-dogs, the speaker perched on the window of the car. Parents standing on the front porch, calling us in for dinner. Remember typing class? What's a typewriter? There were no computers, a laptop was somewhere to sit. What's internet? And OMG...no Facebook!!

Except for Sunday's fat paper, the newspaper today is almost wafer thin, because we can get our news twenty four - seven on the internet. And speaking of Sunday...I remember when the stores used to be closed. You stayed home and had Sunday dinner. Played board games. Or went to visit relatives. Now we seem to be too busy...in spite of all the modern conveniences. Or maybe because of them.

I sound old. I'm not. Just hitting my stride. Sharing my life with a wonderful husband. Four beautiful children. My children-in-law. Four beautiful grandchildren. A wealth of friends and family that are taking this journey with me. So much to look forward to! So much to be thankful for! And I have only begun to scratch the surface. No siree, haven't come anywhere close to reaching my potential.

I am grateful for every wrinkle, laugh line, dark circle, age spot and extra pound that graces this body. I wouldn't trade one minute of my life for anything. The good, the bad, the anything at all. And I am so excited for the experience of what lies ahead. I feel like the party is just getting started!

This year on my birthday, I am celebrating not only the years past, but also the years that lie ahead. And thanking God, in advance, for all the wonderful moments I have yet to enjoy, things I haven't noticed in the past, things I have to look forward to, new discoveries, with the people I love, and even the people I have yet to meet, who will celebrate with me.

Wherever you happen to be on your own life journey, come on over and join the party. Raise a glass to the heavens and toast this miracle we are all a part of.  Maybe with a little nostalgia. But with a lot of thanks. Because if yesterday is any indication, tomorrow promises to be nothing short of amazing.

Happy, Happy Birthday! Everyone.

Until next time...

Debbie

Look At Me......

I don't need a mirror to put on my lipstick. I just remember where my lips are and go for it. A talent that comes in handy, often, given the fact that without the added color applied to my face, I seem to blend into the background...or at least I thought so until a recent trip to Dillard's. Then, suddenly, the background seemed a pretty fine place to hang out.

My significant other and I were just finishing our meal at a local restaurant. Waiting for the check.

"Let's stop at the mall on the way home to find you a tie for Brandon's wedding."

"The mall? Do we really have to go to the mall?""

Lloyd performed the 'husband eye roll' perfectly and wadded up his napkin in defeat. In his eyes, Thursday night date night had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. We paid our dinner bill, and out to the parking lot we meandered.

"Okay, but only one store. All I need is a tie, and that's it."

"I promise...one store. You got somewhere else you need to be?"

I took out my lip pencil and freshened my lips while he slowly wound his way up and down the aisles looking for a place to park.

"There's one right there...you just passed it."

He puts the car into reverse, but someone comes up behind him and zips into the space before he can take his foot off the brake.

"I hate the mall."

Finally, way at the back of the parking lot, I spy someone walking to their car.

"There. Over there. That woman is putting her bags into the trunk. Just put the blinker on and wait for a second. Patience."

We watched as she dropped her keys, picked them up, opened her door, got into the car, remembered something she must have forgotten in the trunk, got back into the car, powdered her nose, dialed someone on her cell phone and, FINALLY, after what seemed like an eternity, the reverse lights! She SLOWLY backed out of the coveted space and we were able to park. Mission accomplished. So far.

I noticed that as we walked through the store on the way to the men's department, the sales people seemed to be in exceptionally good moods, giggling and laughing as we passed by. Given that it was one of their busiest times of the year, I was impressed. They noticed us as we walked by, interrupting their conversations with each other to ask if we needed help. They really paid attention to us. Good old fashioned service with a smile. I liked that. My husband was not impressed. Eyes forward, walk on. Eyes focused only on the prize. Or the tie.

"You start looking at the ties, I want to check out the sunglasses."

"I need your help over here. Don't disappear."

I left him in the very competent hands of the salesman behind the counter and walked over to the rack that held the sunglasses. I picked up a pair and tried them on. Tried to find the little tiny mirror attached to the display to see how they looked. Wait a minute. No way. You've got to be kidding. Take off the sunglasses. Look again into the tiny mirror. Back up slowly. Find my voice.

"LLLOOOYYYEEEDDD!!!"

I turned and marched up to my husband, who by now had at least fifteen ties arranged on the counter in front of him. I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Look at me."

"Okay, okay. Do you like the blue with black stripes or the black with blue stripes?"

"LOOK. AT. ME."

The salesman very discreetly backs away from the counter, wishing he could back all the way into a completely different department, I'm sure.

It seems that as we tried to find our parking space and I rummaged around in my purse for the lip pencil, I inadvertently grabbed the black eyeliner instead. You guessed it. I had been walking around the parking lot, casually through the store (two floors since we parked on the wrong level), holding hands and talking to the love of my life with beautiful BLACK LIPS. Full on black. Goth. Perfectly drawn within the lines.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Do you notice anything amiss here. Maybe a little out of the ordinary?"

"What's wrong with your lips?"

"My point exactly. Do you not ever look at me? I mean, do you not ever SEE me?"

"Well I though your lipstick was a little dark but....."

"BLACK. Not a little dark. Black! And you didn't say anything? Really?"

"I...I...I..." 

No way out of this one, my sweet man. I grabbed a tissue and started to wipe and blot and get rid of the charcoal black smear across the bottom half of my face, when it occurred to me. Do we really ever see all there is to see? Are we so accustomed to our surroundings and so familiar with our routines, that we fail to notice change? Or could it be that we have come to expect it? The unexpected. And then it becomes ordinary.
What does it take to shake us up?

My lipstick debacle is funny in hindsight. We have laughed so hard about that day, that we've cried. I can still see all those salespeople stopping in mid conversation, smiling at us as we waltzed toward them, nonchalant and unaware. What did they see when they looked at us? You better believe that I have learned to at least verify the color of pencil that I slather across my lips. And I have learned, once again, that my husband accepts me. Period. No matter what. (Although I would prefer that he comment more often about the more obvious faux paus.)

What do we see though, when it's not so obvious. The man on the corner who tries to sell us a paper for a dollar. A young guy in a wheel chair trying to maneuver his way across the parking lot at the grocery store. The young mother ahead of us in line with three kids, and two of them are throwing a tantrum. We all have a story. Some are funny, some are sad. Most are familiar. But what does it take for us to see? What goes on behind the scenes? Behind the obvious.

What does it take for us to slow down long enough? To take a good look. For us to let someone else know that we do notice. And care. When it's not as obvious as black lipstick. When it's only a look in someone's eye, an unexpected comment, a silence. Do we really ever see what has been right in front of us all along?

Look. Really look. See. Do.

And use a mirror.

Until next time,

Debbie