Photographs and Memories

Day Two of Twelve.

I've been sitting on this set of photos specifically for my blog.  Too much expressed emotion, remembrance, and nuance to simply put in a photo album on Facebook, these pictures needed a personal boundary in which to reside.

The Thanksgiving holiday was certain to prove poignant since the GilGuy's father had passed away.  Arriving at his home, his widow awaiting us, gave way to that series of moments.  "Granny V" had prepared a space of Buz's belongings.  Did we want any of them?  Military medals, significant and insignificant items lay strewn in a display of personhood.  Not empty or hollow, rather full of the recollection of the man who had traversed the pathways of our hearts stood before us.

Moments of honorable silence gave way to discussion of how and when we saw Buz last with any item in particular in hand. (See also this photo album on Facebook)

I soon left the room to allow for the others to consider the destiny of each item in solitude.  Family members emerged, belonging in hand, memories to discuss.

I wasn't necessarily surprised the the IsraeliBoy had gathered Grandpa's dog tags unto himself . . . but all of us were slightly astonished at the display before us.

Roman Catholic.  Every good Cajun was indeed a Roman Catholic, born and raised . . . yet Buz had an encounter with the Lord which caused him to branch beyond this denominational label and find community expression of faith among the 'evangelicals' - Baptist, Protestant, whatever name you'd like to give them.  A saving knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ, having been born again by repentance from dead works and a faith in Him.

Looking at the evidence of a minor who'd entered the service (he was 15 when he entered the Navy, he later entered the Marine force where he became a Captain) gave way to conversation about one of his tatoos:  his social security number, insignia'd on his leg ~ in case he was blown to smithereens.  Which was quite possible.  A veteran of three wars:  WWII, Korea, and Vietnam and subject to atomic bombing trials at close range ~ he was no stranger to danger in the least.

Tatoos?  Far from the most unusual fact of his military life.  An injury during his years of service brought about an exploratory surgical look at his backside, where a calcified fetus - his twin - was found absorbed by his body, once securely hidden away, now exposed as a trivia piece of unique proportions.

Beyond his military career, he was a man of significant stature and contradiction in terms.  Gregarious and service-to-others-oriented yet a quiet, studious loner who preferred to be enjoying his own company.  Linguistically versed in at least seven languages, little escaped his intelligent ear for detail.  And of course, there is Padre Pio.  :)

His presence among us was far to short, much abbreviated.  He's left behind vestiges of his persona, and with it, photographs and memories of a man much misunderstood, yet respected by many.

Reunited

And it is good.

:D

Big Little Man

We drive the freeway system; we hike the trails. We share meals, living space, and love.

Big's voice is changing.

Little is just sharing his voice.

Big reads to himself.

Little must be read to.

Big likes to watch movies.

Little like Tumblebooks.

Big loves.

Little loves.

Momma loves.

Radishes In My Garden

My Lifetime Friend Karen and I once embarked on a whirlwind journey, the likes of which neither of us had ever been on before.

I had just moved to the Gulf Coast and never been in a hurricane; Karen didn't like to fly. She flew anyway, on a trip to see me at the close of a summer. As logistics would have it, it was necessary that I travel to Nebraska to pick up my two oldest girls, staying with Grandma. This trip had to be accomplished mere hours after Karen arrived.

A storm was brewing in the Gulf, and it was determined that we shouldn't waste any time getting on the road, lest hurricane damage and/or the storm itself were to impede our progress. We determined to set out immediately.

Just before we loaded into the car, I called her around to the side of the house, where I'd planted a tiny, wee garden, in the suburbs. In it were just a few plants, so small it was, but it was a treasure trove of anticipation for me.

"See my radishes?" I exclaimed, pointing at the leafy bunch.

"Pull one up and see how big they are!" Karen prodded, to my disbelieving thought that any fruit could or would possibly be ready for harvest.

Yet, I followed her instructions ~ and to my amazed eyes ~ a beautiful red globe lay in the palm of my hand. Glee overcame us as we gleaned several - to us, a sign of a fruitful trip ahead.

Radishes have long since held great meaning for us as we've weathered our individual storms of life. Every so often, one will ask the other, "How's the radishes?" A comment designed to remind the one commiserating in difficulty to look for the good fruit that might possibly be hidden beneath the rubble of the current trial.

So it is that I share my radishes today. The Square Foot Garden has gained a trellis, a new 5x5 box, and a smaller 3x3 box that I'll be planting this week, all the skilled effort of my GilGuy. The excitement and photos surrounding the new plant beds are put aside, however, in order to purposely reveal the first delicious crop from my garden.

You see, Karen's Dad has passed away. As I type, she and her family are engaged in all things grief. Funerals and arrangements and tears and hugs have been her lot in life, her storm, over the past few days.

I have no words of comfort to give that can erase the loss; no ability to span the miles and grant a shoulder to carry the burden. What I can give is hope, and a loving, poignant reminder:

Karen ~ there are radishes in the garden.

{I love you.}

{hugs}

Me Mum Went To London

Me Mum went to London

What did she see?

A man in a hat,

(The one looking out at me.)

She smiled as she stood

Right next to the chap,

Certain he'd save her

From any mishap.

The shutter did fly -

Snapping her picture

For in an email to send,

Since she knew we'd miss her.

But, alas! and alak!

No pic made it through . . .

So I snagged this photo

As an internet guru

From a site she had joined

But couldn't get through to.

Help her, I did,

To load her shots

Into an album we made,

The only one she "gots."

Then right click and save

I did with glee . . .

It's the only shot of Me Mum in London

I'll probably see.

teehee!

:D

P.S. - It Was A Double Reference, Honest!

I should have realized; should have capitalized upon it; seized the moment . . .

but, alas, I, as a daughter, failed miserably yesterday.

You see, I phoned my Mom last night, to wish her Happy Birthday before the day was actually passed.

At the *exact* same moment her phone rang on the Nebraska prairie, she had surfed the 'net and landed on ChoiceCentral.

She read the words: "I Love My Mother!"
She read the words: "I love you mom!"

and to her BirthdayBrain, the post she was reading was *certainly* an ode to her wonderful characteristics, penned by a loving, doting, and thoughtful child.

HA!

'Tis to laugh, for indeed . . . I, the poster - post the IsraeliBoys' snag of my blank screen - captured the moment in real time for what it was ~ nary giving a thought to the woman who gave birth to me many years ago, living many miles away.

:sigh:

Forgive me, Mother. I know you live to be recognized here on my blog [*not!*]!

To make up for my shortcomings, perhaps the global grouping of Choosers 'net-wide would be willing to join me in wishing you, my delightful and wonderful; gracious and gentile mother, a Belated Blogpost Birthday.

(You will, won't you, Choosers?)

:D

Jet-Settin': A Family Affair

It's March 31. Do you know where your family members are??

Here at ChoiceCentral, it feels a bit like A Tale of Two (no, make that three) Jet Planes!

First of all, today is the day my son, the actor, returns home from his two week stint in LA, alone. He's hurtling down the highway as I type, about to enter the crazy huge LA airport and navigate it all. Let us pray.

Secondly, and the first coincidental note I took, my dear friend (you know, the kind that you call family. If you've not a friend or series of friends like that, you need one - or two!) is crossing the great expanse of the North American continent and heading to the West Coast from the East Coast.

What set my brain a'spinnin', however, was the email I received from my Mom this morning.

My Mom, center, with two of my first cousins.

It read, and I quote:

OFF TO LONDON GUYS :) PLEASE NO E-MAILS WHILE I AM GONE.

If that just doesn't beat all! You see, today, my Mom is flying with my nephew to London, for what may very well be the time of their lives!

My nephew Josh, with the infamous Grandpa Rog.

So, in one day, FOUR of my loved ones are IN THE AIR and criss-crossing the globe simultaneously.

Egads.

It's of epic proportions, I tell ya! A bonafide Jet-Settin' Family Affair!

Padre Pio And The Hombre From Down South

It is a classical case of 'Which Witch Is Which?**'

A veritable 'Who's Who Among Patron Saints.'

You see, apparently, my Father-In-Love has a twin. Or a stunt double, depending on how one looks at it.

Recently walking the streets of his hometown, he was stopped from his travels by a passer-by, inquiring as to whether or not he was indeed the infamous Padre Pio.

Sharing the tale with us, he disclosed that it was not the first time he had been asked the question.

Therefore, the GilGuy undertook the necessary research to discover why this was so.

Proof is in the pudding as they say. You be the judge.

I submit for your perusal Exhibit A - Padre Pio:

and Exhibit B - Father-In-Love:

Question du Jour: Would you mistake my FIL for Padre Pio?

**No derogatory intent, merely a play on words

I, Brutus

This morning I'd like y'all to meet Brutus.

Here he is:

He's a handsome Daschund, now isn't he? Well, it is a bit difficult to tell, I know, because the only part of Brutus that we can view is his beady eye and long-ish snout. Why is that, you ask? It's because Brutus finds it impossible to stay still. It's a coping mechanism designed to assist the camera shy, I've determined.

A n y w h o, Brutus belongs to my sister, whom you may recall from this post. Here she is, with her delightful husband in the background. They love each other:

Shortly after I posted about my sister and Max (God Rest His Doggie Soul), Max met with an untimely death ~ the likes of which put my sister under the covers (as it should) for several days, attempting to come to terms with her loss.

(She can still become misty-eyed over the memory of her L'il Man.)

Isn't my sister beautiful? We are so individualized in looks, and yet we look so much alike. Sharing the same DNA will do that for ya.

But, this post was about Brutus, wasn't it?

So, when my sister had sufficiently greived the loss of her beloved Max (God Rest His Doggie Soul), she sped out to the nearest Daschund supplier, and promptly replaced him with Brutus. (Now, I understand one cannot replace the lost loved one. Work with me here, people!)

Brutus and Max (God Rest His Doggie Soul) are decidedly different in temperament. Max yelped in terror at his introduction to the DellDog. Brutus sniffed him up like any brave, confident dog will do.

Max was a Wienie Dog in every sense of the word, running to Mommie every time Dell showed the slightest extra-hard wrestling moves that doggies are wont to do. Brutus held his own, and even offered to start the newest wrestling match a time or two.

So, by way of these two examples, one can detect the differences I've heretofore set forth.

Yes, Brutus is a fine specimen of a daschund, no doubt. Some even claim he has SuperDoggiePowers, like 'faster than a speeding bullet' 'n stuff:

Or that he is a distant cousin of the Flying Nun.

Me? I just wish he'd hold still for the camera!

Roger.

Roger.

There is alot to love about Roger.

Of course, to the indiscriminate eye, one might consider this man to be a gruff old grump unwilling or unable to crack a smile.

Say it isn't so! Indeed ~ the man who has graced my mother's side for the past 22 years has a heart as large as Texas. He just doesn't want you to know it.

One can't help but notice, however, as his gruff facade gives way to pleasant companionship to a DNA grouping that he was not directly responsible for creating that he has taken us all in as his own anyway. Here he is with my nephew, Joshua:

See that smile tucked near his chin? Yeah. That's Rog. Grinning to himself most times, smiling and laughing out loud in hearty tones that reverberate around the room. Roger has been good for my Mom. He brought back laughter to her world that crashed many years ago.

He's showered her with love and affection; taken her on travels of adventure - er, wait. Perhaps it was my Mom who was taking him . . .but I digress.

The MilkMan-turned-husband took up her brood and the subsequent children thereof and became Grandpa Rog without hesitation. His fun-loving ways endear him to all.

- But he doesn't want to show it.

Nope. As the children of our Mother, it is up to us to see past the formidible frown of false reflection and see him for who he really is: A Softie.

Never has Mr. Softie shown his truer colors than when the blizzard hit. Frank, the neighborhood cat was given refuge in the garage, complete with a bed and a litterbox. That was, of course, after he stole a few furtive strokes of Roggie-Love on the recliner. :D

Yet nothing - absolutely NOTHING - prepared me for the dispicable act of shrewd traitory that occured when the DellDog hit the Nebraska scene:

Do you see that?

Yes! THAT! *MY* dog ~ lounging comfortably - ON PURPOSE - in the lap of that gruff-old-self-proclaimed-naysayer-of-an-animal-lover ~

The DellDog: Soaking up the Roggie-Love like the rest of us.

:sigh: Can ya blame him?

:D

Never Dull Nor Dreary

I've been flipping through photographs tonight.

I should be in bed, sleeping, that I might be ready to go, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed first thing in the morning. There are planes to catch and miles to drive.

Here I sit, scrolling through the digitalized moments of my Grandfather's funeral. The zany but characteristic reality is easy to spot ~ just as it was that day. A reception room filled with those paying their last respects, wearing the traditional dark colors of subdued emotions.

But not my Grandma.

Bright red and cheerful her top; even while her heart was heavy with grief.

It is nothing new. Not out of the ordinary. Not a surprise.

Vivid describes her best.

Much to my delight, my lens was to discover that which my eyes had already noted: Sisters cut from the same cloth.

Meet my Grandma Norma [the brunette] and my Great Aunt Maxine:

Two women who know how to pack a punch of festive flair on any occassion.

Back By Popular Demand

The telltale signs that the holidays are approaching have encroached upon Americans everywhere. Yet I daresay none of those holiday fanfares will compare to the holiday that *we* are about to embark upon!

Yes, Choosers, we are about to relish a Holiday Hollywood Hiatus!

We'll be turning in our casting calls and scrolled through scripts for some warm, yummy, flavorful family meals coupled with laughter and largeness of heart.

The Cement Jungle will be replaced with gravel roads and easy driving.

Dell the newly minted CityDog will once again roam the road that encircles the lake, and dive into the tall grass with fevor. The nearby grove of wooded glen will encompass his stubby wagging tail will invite him for a sniff-fest stroll.

I suppose nothing - NOTHING - will compare to this:

Or moments like this:

Or even this:

I can feel the newest episodes of Konversation Korner brewing from afar.

I can hear my KeetBeet giggle and laugh; his Momma talking to him in that 'baby voice' that only she can.

I can smooth my daughter's hair and tell her all is well.

I can ride Zeke once again, sharing quiet moments with my oldest daughter.

I can make Gil get up with Keller, thereby freeing myself to sleep in for the first time in months!

Ah yes . . .soon our world will expand.

Or, would that be contract?

I think I hear the heartbeat of family ~ just around the corner.

Determined.

The chill in the air is distinct this morning.

As I realized I'd have to exit from beneath the covers against my will, I made mental note of where my jacket was, since I'd surely be needing it!

The smell of warm apples greeted me when I stepped into the kitchen, creating a warm homey feel amidst all the temporary chaos that surrounds me: I've a kitchen in disarray after a cooking frenzy yesterday; boxes half packed with finished school books. Laundry in various stages of cleanliness; the usual Keller clutter; my desk - brimming high with piles of nondescript items awaiting my attention . . .and this:

The staging area of the newly minted Geek squad (that would be me.) ~ again.

I had turned my back for one. moment. while stirring cookie dough yesterday morning. My child (who shall remain anonymous) took a turn on the computer. When we switched places, I was greeted by flying banner ads, each opening furiously in an explorer window of their own.

My day took an immediate shift from the planned hike to emergency crisis mode. I'll spare you the play by play action. Suffice it to say, I *think* this mornings' scan will result in a successful eradication of all things virus-y.

Meanwhile, I feel very in tune with my Dad, Country Music's Computer Guru this morning. I can see him in my mind's eye, on those cold Nebraska mornings, coffee cup in hand.

I can see him, sitting in front of [yet another] mechanical and/or electronic device, making reparations as necessary. I can hear his voice over the telephone, verbally instructing me on the next step.

Perhaps the only imagery missing from my nostalgic view would be this:

The DellDog, just as determined to stay warm this morning as I.

My Mom Wants In On The Act.

She secretly desires a blog of her very own.

I know it.

She knows it.

She's denying her Inner Blogger, and trying to live vicariously through me.

How do I know? She sent me her latest photog captures from Spearfish Canyon, SD. Those pics are on display here today at ChoiceCentral.

My Mom will be retiring soon. A career that has spanned 22 years. A career that began out of hardship and trail, difficulty and tough decisions.

My Mom was a stay-at-home-mom. She made me tea and toast. She nurtured me in an environment that taught me to think for myself, to self-educate, to love others and give them grace. I love the example she set forth for me.

I had just graduated when she was plunged into single parenthood, and had to become the breadwinner with my sister still at home. She took the low paying job because it put food on the table. She moved because it meant she could take the low paying job.

But my Mom was honorable.

She was and is of noble character. So the Lord honored her faithfulness and steadfast ways by opening up a position that gave her freedom of movement financially. A job that allowed her to gain and grow assets, not simply survive.

I've always been impressed with my Mom.

She's got guts and determination; an honest and sincere heart.

She's got lots of wisdom to share. Plenty of funny things to say. Experience to glean from. But she doesn't realize that others might like to, would be interested in, or would be benefitted by hearing it.

So today, Choosers, a vote.

Please respond by leaving a comment to this end:

1. Should my Mom start a blog of her very own? Yes or No

2. Should my Mom feel loved? Yes or No

Thanks for affirming her today, Gang.

You know she wants in on the act.

:D

More Moments

With Grandparents, no less! ")

A leisurely Saturday with family, before our big trip to the Big City. Moments of quiet and thoughtfulness; comfort and love.

Let Brotherly Love Continue

It's a command, you know.

Hebrews 13:1

I thought today would be a good day to bring a bit 'o photographical love yer way concerning this very thing. Brotherly Love. After three girls: beautiful, daring, darling girls, it was high time to have some boys. And I got 'em! Did I mention I have TWO? Two boys?

Ah. Heaven!

Ready? Here we go! Everybody, LOVE YOUR BROTHER!!

A little trip down memory lane, as Tiffany meets Keller St John for the very first time.

BeautyBeth cuddles well . . .

Yikes! Is this REALLY love? Or a form of torture? Aubrey takes on her brother Israel . . .

Kissy, kissy, kissy! Aubrey kisses her bro - brother???

EEEEWEWWWWWWW!! DOG KISSES! GET THE DISINFECTANT!!!

Ah well. They sure are cute, them boys! I suppose I'll not deny My Three Sons!

Have you hugged/cuddled/kissed your brother today? Get to it! Chop! Chop! ")