Chris Loehmer Kincaid's Blog, page 82
June 12, 2019
Minnesota – Entry 4 in the story of my sister and me
“I think babies are great. Okay, maybe babies aren’t great – they’re messy, but little kids are tons of fun. I love little kids and it seems they all have to go through the messy stage first. But they’re just so fun when they say embarrassing things to distant relatives. And they can draw really modern art pictures and you can hang them on your fridge with little penguin-magnet-things.” Pat Loehmer
(At the 2011 Minnesota Renaissance Festival, kids being messy.)1994 – Adventures in Minnesota For a full year after my sister was diagnosed with cancer, she and her doctors played the waiting game. She had CAT scans, lab work, and regular office visits. Since she had a hysterectomy, the specialists were counting on the surgery having gotten all of the cancer cells. They felt that only time would tell. The family turned it over to God. Prayer would spare Pat and her life would continue unimpeded. That however was not God’s plan. Pat and I had always talked about going to the Minnesota Renaissance Festival in Shakopee. Exactly one year after her initial diagnosis, Pat, I and a friend of hers, Angie, packed up her SUV and drove to Minnesota. Another friend of hers, Phyllis from college, lived just down the road from the Festival and she invited us for the weekend. Pat had started getting abdominal pain again that week, pain that doubled her over and took away her breath. Her doctor gave her a prescription for Vicodin and made an appointment for the next week. We didn’t change our plans. I don’t know how other people function on Vicodin, but it quickly became obvious that my sister could not. Luckily, Angie and I were able to find Belle Plaine, Minnesota, without Pat’s help. But when we tried to find Phyllis’s, we were useless and turns out so was Pat.We hadn’t even brought along the address because Pat kept swearing she knew exactly where she lived, right across from the school. With my sister in her own little narcotic world in the back seat, we thought, it would still be ok, Belle Plaine was a small town and we should be able to find the school.Wrong. And remember, this was 1994, before cell phones and before GPS. In the dark, we must have driven up and down every one of the twelve or so streets in town without success. About the time we pulled into a convenience store to ask for directions, Pat’s head popped up in the back seat. As Angie went inside to ask where the school was, Pat, watching through the window, began to heckle the gas station attendant as his arms swung to and fro pointing out the streets we had to take.“He isn’t even pointing to where the school is.”“Pat,” I answered as best I could through my giggles. “You don’t know where we are.” “Oh, you silly, I know we are in Minnesota.”“Are you sure?” I had to tease.“Umm, I think so. Unless you guys got us lost.”“We didn’t get us lost, you didn’t bring the directions. Right now, you don’t know anything.”“Isn’t it great?” Pat answered and went into a fit of giggles. Angie returned to the SUV and immediately joined our laughter, without even asking what was so funny. Somehow we found the school, and the house where Phyllis lived. We were still in hysterics as we stumbled down the stairs to her basement apartment. Pat slept off her narcotics in the spare bedroom, while I stretched out on the couch and Angie curled up on the living room floor. We made it to the Renaissance Festival the next day and were able to have a good time, at least for the first couple hours. By early afternoon, however, the Vicodin was no longer cutting the pain and was instead causing waves of nausea. Pat wasn’t able to eat anything and started wishing she could just throw up. We drove back to Phil’s, packed up and started the five-hour drive home. Pat spent most of the trip writhing in pain in the backseat. We debated about taking her straight to the ER when we got back to town, but she only wanted to get home and go to bed. Her husband took her to the ER first thing in the morning. Her second surgery removed another large tumor. Chemotherapy and radiation followed. At this point, the statistics were grim. Less than 20 percent of women with her type of cancer lived past 18 months.
Pat at Phyllis's wedding in Belle Plaine in 1996
June 9, 2019
Diagnosis – Entry 3 in the story of my sister and me
“Stop worrying about the future, you can always change it. All you have to do is avoid painting yourself into a corner. And if you do, make sure there’s a window behind you.” Pat Loehmer
Flashback We were driving through Canada on a camping trip, Mom, Dad, Pat, and I. I must have been twelve years old (it felt like I was so much younger at the time). We had stopped at a wayside, and I kind of wandered off somewhere. (By the way, the picture above was from seven years prior to the trip to Canada.) When I came out of the woods from where I had been roaming, our pickup truck and camper were no longer parked where I thought it had been. I looked around and saw it driving off.All I could do was run after it. Here I was in a foreign country (ok, it was only Canada), and my family was leaving me behind!When my parents had been ready to leave the wayside, they saw Pat go into the back of the pickup camper, and since we were practically inseparable, they figured I was already in. Pat, at first, figured that I was in the cab of the truck, but it didn’t take her long to realize that I was not. She looked through the camper window and into the truck, saw Mom, Dad, and the dog, and not me. She started beating on the window, but, with the truck window in between, Mom and Dad were oblivious to her panicked attempts to get their attention.At that moment, Pat made a crucial decision, possibly a life-altering decision in my regards. When my parents first bought the camper when I was five and my sister was seven, they told us we were never, ever, for any reason to go near the back door of the camper when the truck was moving. Mom was a bit of a worry-wart and she pictured one of her youngest two daughters falling out the back door and into rushing traffic. Pat didn’t hesitate. She flung the back door of the camper open just as Dad was breaking for the stop sign before turning onto the road. I had gotten to within five or six feet of the truck by then, so easily leapt into the camper before Dad started to accelerate. Before I could catch my breath, Pat started laughing hysterically. Within a minute I was laughing right along with her.
1993 – A visit with the doctorTwo weeks after Pat’s emergency hysterectomy, Dr. Skye called me into her office. She offered me a chair. “I just got off the phone with your sister. She asked me to talk to you.”My mind swirled. What could there be to talk about?“I got the final pathology report back from her fibroid tumor. As you know, fibroids are always benign. Turns out this wasn’t a fibroid.”“It wasn’t?” I had a sinking feeling I knew where this was going.“Pat has leiomyosarcoma, a very deadly form of cancer.”Cancer? In my incredibly healthy, bubbly sister? She is too young, only 34 years old. She has so much to give. But she is also stubborn; she can fight this and win.Okay, except that’s not what I really thought when her gynecologist gave me that diagnosis. Instead, I thought, Lie – O – My – O – sarcoma? Are you kidding me? You made that up. That sounds ridiculous. The leio part means smooth and the myo part means muscle. And I think most people know that sarcoma is the cancer part. Other types of cancers are carcinoma, lymphoma and melanoma, thus oma means tumor. A leiomyosacrcoma is a cancerous tumor of the smooth muscles and is most commonly found in the uterus, stomach or small intestine. It is a rare and unpredictable cancer. I didn’t know any of that as I sat in Pat’s doctor’s office that day. All I knew was that Pat would fight this and win.
Flashback We were driving through Canada on a camping trip, Mom, Dad, Pat, and I. I must have been twelve years old (it felt like I was so much younger at the time). We had stopped at a wayside, and I kind of wandered off somewhere. (By the way, the picture above was from seven years prior to the trip to Canada.) When I came out of the woods from where I had been roaming, our pickup truck and camper were no longer parked where I thought it had been. I looked around and saw it driving off.All I could do was run after it. Here I was in a foreign country (ok, it was only Canada), and my family was leaving me behind!When my parents had been ready to leave the wayside, they saw Pat go into the back of the pickup camper, and since we were practically inseparable, they figured I was already in. Pat, at first, figured that I was in the cab of the truck, but it didn’t take her long to realize that I was not. She looked through the camper window and into the truck, saw Mom, Dad, and the dog, and not me. She started beating on the window, but, with the truck window in between, Mom and Dad were oblivious to her panicked attempts to get their attention.At that moment, Pat made a crucial decision, possibly a life-altering decision in my regards. When my parents first bought the camper when I was five and my sister was seven, they told us we were never, ever, for any reason to go near the back door of the camper when the truck was moving. Mom was a bit of a worry-wart and she pictured one of her youngest two daughters falling out the back door and into rushing traffic. Pat didn’t hesitate. She flung the back door of the camper open just as Dad was breaking for the stop sign before turning onto the road. I had gotten to within five or six feet of the truck by then, so easily leapt into the camper before Dad started to accelerate. Before I could catch my breath, Pat started laughing hysterically. Within a minute I was laughing right along with her.
1993 – A visit with the doctorTwo weeks after Pat’s emergency hysterectomy, Dr. Skye called me into her office. She offered me a chair. “I just got off the phone with your sister. She asked me to talk to you.”My mind swirled. What could there be to talk about?“I got the final pathology report back from her fibroid tumor. As you know, fibroids are always benign. Turns out this wasn’t a fibroid.”“It wasn’t?” I had a sinking feeling I knew where this was going.“Pat has leiomyosarcoma, a very deadly form of cancer.”Cancer? In my incredibly healthy, bubbly sister? She is too young, only 34 years old. She has so much to give. But she is also stubborn; she can fight this and win.Okay, except that’s not what I really thought when her gynecologist gave me that diagnosis. Instead, I thought, Lie – O – My – O – sarcoma? Are you kidding me? You made that up. That sounds ridiculous. The leio part means smooth and the myo part means muscle. And I think most people know that sarcoma is the cancer part. Other types of cancers are carcinoma, lymphoma and melanoma, thus oma means tumor. A leiomyosacrcoma is a cancerous tumor of the smooth muscles and is most commonly found in the uterus, stomach or small intestine. It is a rare and unpredictable cancer. I didn’t know any of that as I sat in Pat’s doctor’s office that day. All I knew was that Pat would fight this and win.
June 7, 2019
The Day Life Changed – Entry 2 in the story of my sister and me
“You’re my sister (blood is seven times thicker than water and Henry VIII’s second wife had six fingers (which is a condition known as hexadactylism)) and I love you.” Pat Loehmer
Flashback
No one ever made it a secret as to why I came to this Earth, why I was sent to this particular family in northern Wisconsin very early in the 1960s. After one year of marriage, Mom and Dad had a son. Another year later they had a daughter. Mom’s brother and sister were each rounding out their families to four kids each, but it didn’t look as though our immediate family would have any more children. Until twelve years later when Patricia Ann appeared on the scene. Dad’s 8mm movie camera was still a novelty, and Patti Ann became his star. He recorded her walking down the road, and up the road, and through the snow. And laughing. Holy cow, did she laugh. All the time. And Dad got it all on film. I don’t know how my brother and oldest sister felt about it. In the home movies, they were usually following Pat around, doting on her, picking her up when she fell. Oh, except for that time when Tom hit her in the face with a snowball. A little over a year into that, someone realized that Pat was going to be spoiled rotten in no time. Not only in her own household, but as the youngest cousin, within the extended family. Which explains how I came to be. I was conceived and delivered to be the baby in the family and steal just a little bit of Pat’s thunder, to accept my share of being spoiled. And last but not least, so that when all the other kids graduated from high school, moved out and started families of their own, Pat would not be alone. I came home to not only be her younger sister, I came home to be her best friend.
1993 – the day life changed I stood up and stretched my back. Only a few more beans to pick, I decided, looking down the row of leafy plants. Eating frozen green beans throughout the winter took me right back to my childhood, and those hot summer evenings when Pat and I just wanted to be lazy, but Mom would chase us out to the garden with a pail. As I bent down to reach for more beans, the phone rang inside the house. A moment later, my seven-year-old Nick came bounding out the front door, waving the portable phone. “It’s Aunt Patti,” he announced, bringing me the receiver. “Hey, you’re up awful early on a Saturday morning.” Raising two kids on my own, I never had the luxury of sleeping in, but my sister relished her weekend mornings in bed.“I don’t feel good,” she answered groggily.“What’s the matter?” “My stomach is killing me.”Who knew, as I stood there in my garden, what this would mean? She’d already had her appendix out and at 34 years old, what else could it be? Kidney stones? Gall bladder? Since I worked in health care, the family tended to call me with every medical complaint.I didn’t have any answers for her, so she decided she would give it a couple hours and then have her husband take her to the emergency room. Twenty-four hours later, I stood by her hospital bed.“It was a fibroid in her uterus. Just the size and shape of a bratwurst.” Dr. Skye, the gynecologist who had performed surgery late on Saturday afternoon, held up her hands to show the exact size. I worked with Dr. Skye at the clinic and had been glad she was the doctor on call that weekend. She and Pat had an instant rapport. “We had to do a hysterectomy though to get it all.”Pat lifted her head and thrust out her chin. All was good now. She would recover from surgery and get on with her life.
FlashbackNo one ever made it a secret as to why I came to this Earth, why I was sent to this particular family in northern Wisconsin very early in the 1960s. After one year of marriage, Mom and Dad had a son. Another year later they had a daughter. Mom’s brother and sister were each rounding out their families to four kids each, but it didn’t look as though our immediate family would have any more children. Until twelve years later when Patricia Ann appeared on the scene. Dad’s 8mm movie camera was still a novelty, and Patti Ann became his star. He recorded her walking down the road, and up the road, and through the snow. And laughing. Holy cow, did she laugh. All the time. And Dad got it all on film. I don’t know how my brother and oldest sister felt about it. In the home movies, they were usually following Pat around, doting on her, picking her up when she fell. Oh, except for that time when Tom hit her in the face with a snowball. A little over a year into that, someone realized that Pat was going to be spoiled rotten in no time. Not only in her own household, but as the youngest cousin, within the extended family. Which explains how I came to be. I was conceived and delivered to be the baby in the family and steal just a little bit of Pat’s thunder, to accept my share of being spoiled. And last but not least, so that when all the other kids graduated from high school, moved out and started families of their own, Pat would not be alone. I came home to not only be her younger sister, I came home to be her best friend.
1993 – the day life changed I stood up and stretched my back. Only a few more beans to pick, I decided, looking down the row of leafy plants. Eating frozen green beans throughout the winter took me right back to my childhood, and those hot summer evenings when Pat and I just wanted to be lazy, but Mom would chase us out to the garden with a pail. As I bent down to reach for more beans, the phone rang inside the house. A moment later, my seven-year-old Nick came bounding out the front door, waving the portable phone. “It’s Aunt Patti,” he announced, bringing me the receiver. “Hey, you’re up awful early on a Saturday morning.” Raising two kids on my own, I never had the luxury of sleeping in, but my sister relished her weekend mornings in bed.“I don’t feel good,” she answered groggily.“What’s the matter?” “My stomach is killing me.”Who knew, as I stood there in my garden, what this would mean? She’d already had her appendix out and at 34 years old, what else could it be? Kidney stones? Gall bladder? Since I worked in health care, the family tended to call me with every medical complaint.I didn’t have any answers for her, so she decided she would give it a couple hours and then have her husband take her to the emergency room. Twenty-four hours later, I stood by her hospital bed.“It was a fibroid in her uterus. Just the size and shape of a bratwurst.” Dr. Skye, the gynecologist who had performed surgery late on Saturday afternoon, held up her hands to show the exact size. I worked with Dr. Skye at the clinic and had been glad she was the doctor on call that weekend. She and Pat had an instant rapport. “We had to do a hysterectomy though to get it all.”Pat lifted her head and thrust out her chin. All was good now. She would recover from surgery and get on with her life.
June 5, 2019
A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words - Entry 1 in the story of my sister and me
“You know what they say – a picture’s worth a thousand words.Which means painters make more money than writers.”
Three years ago, I started writing an account of my sister Pat and myself, where we came from and where things ended up. For a couple months now, I’ve been planning on sharing the entire story starting the first Wednesday in June. With everything that’s gone on in my life so far this year, I’ve been second guessing that plan. I finished reading a book this week where the protagonist’s father gave her the advice to not have a plan. Plans, after all, are known to fail probably more than they succeed. So here I go anyway. I have a slew of stories from our childhood and a stack of letters Pat had written to me over the years which include her wonderful, witty quotes. I also have my favorite things to share here – Pictures! But because I procrastinated all night about whether or not to even start this thing, I’m going to leave you hanging until I post again on Friday. Hanging, with one more quote from my brilliant sister. “My view of life is laugh at everything.Not really, but sometimes you have to look at things light-heartedly.”
A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words
“You know what they say – a picture’s worth a thousand words.Which means painters make more money than writers.”
Three years ago, I started writing an account of my sister Pat and myself, where we came from and where things ended up. For a couple months now, I’ve been planning on sharing the entire story starting the first Wednesday in June. With everything that’s gone on in my life so far this year, I’ve been second guessing that plan. I finished reading a book this week where the protagonist’s father gave her the advice to not have a plan. Plans, after all, are known to fail probably more than they succeed. So here I go anyway. I have a slew of stories from our childhood and a stack of letters Pat had written to me over the years which include her wonderful, witty quotes. I also have my favorite things to share here – Pictures! But because I procrastinated all night about whether or not to even start this thing, I’m going to leave you hanging until I post again on Friday. Hanging, with one more quote from my brilliant sister. “My view of life is laugh at everything.Not really, but sometimes you have to look at things light-heartedly.”
June 2, 2019
To Be Healed
For the month of May, in celebration of women everywhere, I’ve been blogging on Sundays about various women who Jesus interacted with. I realize it is June already; I guess I ran out of Sundays. I just had to share this last story. So Jesus got up and followed him, and his disciples went along with him.A woman who had suffered from severe bleeding for twelve years came up behind Jesus and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, “If only I touch his cloak, I will get well.”Jesus turned around and saw her, and said, “Courage, my daughter! Your faith has made you well.” At that very moment the woman became well. Matthew 9:19-22 Good News Translation
The premise of this story is that Jesus was out and about teaching, when a Jewish official came up to Him to say that his daughter had just died, but that the man has faith that Jesus can bring her back to life.
Jesus got up and followed the man. When it says “his disciples”, it wasn’t necessarily only the twelve men we think of as His disciples, but it could be whatever crowd was with Him that day. As they are walking through the streets, they pass many other people. One of them a woman with an affliction.
It doesn’t say in any version of the Bible that I checked exactly what this bleeding problem was, but I think the vast majority of us women living in the twenty-first century believe this woman’s problem was heavy periods. Today, such a thing can still be debilitating, but can you imagine two thousand years ago when they had not much more than rags, maybe some reeds from the edge of the water, I don’t know, maybe some kind of plant that was more absorbent, but it could not have been fun.
Even now, on my trips to Africa, girls and women can be stuck in bed for days when they get their periods because there are just no decent supplies. Just yucky to think about, right? But, hey, ladies, we have all been there.
So, this woman, who has been laid up for twelve years with this uncontrollable bleeding, looks out the window of her home and sees Jesus coming. She’s heard the stories of His teachings and His miracles. She believes what she has heard, and she knows in her heart that He can cure her.
She slips out into the street, and just as Jesus passes by, she reaches out and touches the hem of His cloak.
In one sermon I heard one time on this passage, the pastor said that “Jesus felt the power go out of Him” and that was why He stopped and turned. I suppose that’s possible, but think of all the people who were reaching out to touch Jesus every time He was out in public? Seems like that would be beyond the paparazzi we have nowadays.
Whatever the case, the woman is healed instantly. After their brief exchange, Jesus continues down the street to the official’s home and brings his daughter back to life.
As I sit here typing this, with my broken foot in a boot on a pillow, I’m wishing I would see Jesus walk by my window, so that I could stumble out, touch His cloak and be healed. I know it doesn’t work that way. Besides my soul needs healing more than my body. I am just thankful for all that I have.
One of the oldest pictures I have of women, strong women to be sure, taken sometime in the 1910s. The arrow on the top of the photo is pointing to my mom's mom. If their lives were hard, can you imagine life for women many years before them?
May 31, 2019
Just when things couldn't get worse...
You know the saying, “just when you think things can’t get worse, they do”? Or something like that.
Well, so here we go again – or still – things continuing to get worse.
After two beautiful days over the Memorial Day weekend, I fell on Monday going down my basement stairs and broke a bone in my right foot.
Not really much more I can say about that.
I’m back in the boot which I wore for six weeks last year due to a painful bone spur on my left heel. This time, however, I’m supposed to be non-weight bearing on the injured foot.
Which is where my mom’s walker comes in. Let me tell you, it was a huge blow to this fifty-something-year-old to be hobbling around my house pushing this thing. The only bonus is all the stuff I can carry in it. I didn’t get a picture of the storage hatch beneath the seat. I still need to load it up with treats though.
I didn’t get a picture of the shower chair that Hubby brought into the bathroom. That was another blow to my ego, sitting on that disgusting thing so I could wash my hair in the shower. No picture of the crutches Hubby bought me yesterday, either. I’m pretty excited to be able to get out of the house and tole around the yard on them. Seems like these things always happen to me in the spring, when I have so much to do outside, and then I’m laid up with a bad back, a heel spur or a broken hoof.
At least the swelling is going down, even if the bruising is more colorful.
Wish me luck with this!
Well, so here we go again – or still – things continuing to get worse.
After two beautiful days over the Memorial Day weekend, I fell on Monday going down my basement stairs and broke a bone in my right foot.
Not really much more I can say about that. 
I’m back in the boot which I wore for six weeks last year due to a painful bone spur on my left heel. This time, however, I’m supposed to be non-weight bearing on the injured foot.
Which is where my mom’s walker comes in. Let me tell you, it was a huge blow to this fifty-something-year-old to be hobbling around my house pushing this thing. The only bonus is all the stuff I can carry in it. I didn’t get a picture of the storage hatch beneath the seat. I still need to load it up with treats though.
I didn’t get a picture of the shower chair that Hubby brought into the bathroom. That was another blow to my ego, sitting on that disgusting thing so I could wash my hair in the shower. No picture of the crutches Hubby bought me yesterday, either. I’m pretty excited to be able to get out of the house and tole around the yard on them. Seems like these things always happen to me in the spring, when I have so much to do outside, and then I’m laid up with a bad back, a heel spur or a broken hoof.At least the swelling is going down, even if the bruising is more colorful.
Wish me luck with this!
May 29, 2019
When life hands you lemons
A week ago today, at three am, our power went out. During the previous month, we burned up two sump pumps, as well as losing power for a few hours, so on three occasions this spring I had already been holding the water at bay in my basement.
Last Wednesday morning, however, with the wind blowing and electricity out in most of our area, I didn’t hold out much hope that we could stay on top of the water flow until Public Service got to us.
After bailing water and hauling it up the stairs and outside for three and a half hours, we realized that this was a battle we couldn’t win. Hubby and I had to get to work and the basement would just have to be on its own.
But not before I heated up several kettles of water. Thank God for a gas stove.
Coz, when life throws us lemons, we make lemonade. Or take a bath by candlelight.
The basement was a mess when I got home from work, but we had already pulled up anything which would get wrecked, so it was just a matter of getting the water out.
But then Hubby brought home a new addition to the family. I’ll call her Miracle. She only ran for two hours – but she was pumping out that water with all her heart – before the power came back on at 9:30 that night.
I nearly forgot to mention there was another causality from the storm. Not sure when we’ll be able to get that taken care of.
And my life continues to be a barrel of laughs. Check back in on Friday.
Last Wednesday morning, however, with the wind blowing and electricity out in most of our area, I didn’t hold out much hope that we could stay on top of the water flow until Public Service got to us.
After bailing water and hauling it up the stairs and outside for three and a half hours, we realized that this was a battle we couldn’t win. Hubby and I had to get to work and the basement would just have to be on its own.
But not before I heated up several kettles of water. Thank God for a gas stove.
Coz, when life throws us lemons, we make lemonade. Or take a bath by candlelight. 
The basement was a mess when I got home from work, but we had already pulled up anything which would get wrecked, so it was just a matter of getting the water out.
But then Hubby brought home a new addition to the family. I’ll call her Miracle. She only ran for two hours – but she was pumping out that water with all her heart – before the power came back on at 9:30 that night.
I nearly forgot to mention there was another causality from the storm. Not sure when we’ll be able to get that taken care of.
And my life continues to be a barrel of laughs. Check back in on Friday. 
May 26, 2019
More a Martha than a Mary
While Jesus and his followers were traveling, Jesus went into a town. A woman named Martha let Jesus stay at her house. Martha had a sister named Mary. Mary was sitting at Jesus’ feet and listening to him teach. Martha became angry because she had so much work to do. She went in and said, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me alone to do all the work? Tell her to help me!”But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are getting worried and upset about too many things. Only one thing is important. Mary has chosen the right thing, and it will never be taken away from her.” Luke 10:38-42 (International Children’s Bible)
For the month of May, I’ve been sharing Bible passages of interactions Jesus had with various women.
I think that most of us have heard these lines, and many of us women think to ourselves, “well, someone has to do the work! I guess it’s gonna have to be and I’m not gonna get any help.” And in the case of Mary and Martha, Jesus isn’t even any help.
I think it’s a good lesson for us with type A personalities or obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I know that would be me for sure.
But then I read this Bible verse. “The poor will always be with you, but you will not always have me.” John 12:8 (ICB)
Does the house have to be clean? Does the table have to be set with a myriad of different delicacies? Does the grass have to be mowed? Can’t the laundry wait one more day? Where should our priorities be?
With Memorial Day coming up tomorrow, we are reminded that our loved ones aren’t always going to be with us. Spending time with them always needs to be our priority. The only higher priority is spending time with Jesus.
For the month of May, I’ve been sharing Bible passages of interactions Jesus had with various women.
I think that most of us have heard these lines, and many of us women think to ourselves, “well, someone has to do the work! I guess it’s gonna have to be and I’m not gonna get any help.” And in the case of Mary and Martha, Jesus isn’t even any help.
I think it’s a good lesson for us with type A personalities or obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I know that would be me for sure.
But then I read this Bible verse. “The poor will always be with you, but you will not always have me.” John 12:8 (ICB)
Does the house have to be clean? Does the table have to be set with a myriad of different delicacies? Does the grass have to be mowed? Can’t the laundry wait one more day? Where should our priorities be?
With Memorial Day coming up tomorrow, we are reminded that our loved ones aren’t always going to be with us. Spending time with them always needs to be our priority. The only higher priority is spending time with Jesus.
May 22, 2019
The Rest of the Story
Over the last month, I’ve shared the quick, down-and-dirty of our vacation in April to Virginia. I’ve just been throwing random pictures at you, with the minimum of description. I don’t even think I told you the whole Virginia game plan. I was going to give you a complete explanation of some of the places we visited, but maybe I should start with the who and why first.
My mom’s uncle, his wife and their three children lived in southeastern Virginia when I was a kid. Three times over the years, Mom and Dad packed my sister and me up in the truck camper and drove out there for a visit. We’d visited Jamestown, Williamsburg, Monticello, the mountains and the beach on all those trips. Then, when my daughter was a senior in high school, my mom and I took her there for spring break.
After sharing all the pictures and stories of those times with my husband, I most of all wanted to take him to Virginia. Before I could get him there, my niece’s daughter got stationed at the Navy base in nearby Norfolk. I also reconnected with a friend from high school who was living in north-central Virginia.
With all of that going on, how did I think I could get this all done in one week!
These are some of the accommodations we had during that week.
Our room in Mom’s cousin’s guest house for two nights.
Our hotel room in Williamsburg for the next two nights.
It even had a complete kitchen. The idea was to cut down on our meal expenses by cooking our own food. You can imagine how well that worked.
Hubby got in just a tiny bit of golf.
.
I probably shouldn’t share this picture. I went down to the laundry one night to wash clothes. Instead of running up and down to our room, I wanted to park myself in the little laundry room and work on my laptop while the clothes washed. But there was no chair. I looked across the hall and two doors down and noticed a door ajar. Beyond which, this mess lay. I ventured inside, found a chair for myself and dragged it in by the washing machine. Probably not my smartest move. I don’t even want to tell you about the dryer eating my coins and having to tromp back up to the room for more money, then back to the front desk for more coins, which the nice young desk clerk gave me due to the dryer’s failure. Not my best night.
And then there was the next morning. As I was getting dressed, I heard a crash in the hallway. I could also hear kids laughing so I didn’t think much of it until I saw water streaming under our door and into our kitchen floor. Apparently, this pan full of water fell out of the ceiling. I know, what? But really, the hotel was an okay place to stay.
Our last night in Virginia we drove north to my friend’s. We had such a nice visit with her and her husband. It was good to reminisce about high school and junior high, wonder how we ever survived.
And how we all turned out pretty darn good
My mom’s uncle, his wife and their three children lived in southeastern Virginia when I was a kid. Three times over the years, Mom and Dad packed my sister and me up in the truck camper and drove out there for a visit. We’d visited Jamestown, Williamsburg, Monticello, the mountains and the beach on all those trips. Then, when my daughter was a senior in high school, my mom and I took her there for spring break.
After sharing all the pictures and stories of those times with my husband, I most of all wanted to take him to Virginia. Before I could get him there, my niece’s daughter got stationed at the Navy base in nearby Norfolk. I also reconnected with a friend from high school who was living in north-central Virginia.
With all of that going on, how did I think I could get this all done in one week!
These are some of the accommodations we had during that week.
Our room in Mom’s cousin’s guest house for two nights.
Our hotel room in Williamsburg for the next two nights.
It even had a complete kitchen. The idea was to cut down on our meal expenses by cooking our own food. You can imagine how well that worked.
Hubby got in just a tiny bit of golf..
I probably shouldn’t share this picture. I went down to the laundry one night to wash clothes. Instead of running up and down to our room, I wanted to park myself in the little laundry room and work on my laptop while the clothes washed. But there was no chair. I looked across the hall and two doors down and noticed a door ajar. Beyond which, this mess lay. I ventured inside, found a chair for myself and dragged it in by the washing machine. Probably not my smartest move. I don’t even want to tell you about the dryer eating my coins and having to tromp back up to the room for more money, then back to the front desk for more coins, which the nice young desk clerk gave me due to the dryer’s failure. Not my best night.
And then there was the next morning. As I was getting dressed, I heard a crash in the hallway. I could also hear kids laughing so I didn’t think much of it until I saw water streaming under our door and into our kitchen floor. Apparently, this pan full of water fell out of the ceiling. I know, what? But really, the hotel was an okay place to stay.
Our last night in Virginia we drove north to my friend’s. We had such a nice visit with her and her husband. It was good to reminisce about high school and junior high, wonder how we ever survived.
And how we all turned out pretty darn good
