Soul Music

It's no secret that music has played a large role in my life from the very beginning.

My grandfather was a musician.  He died two months before I was born.  I often wonder if part of him came back in me.      

Perhaps I was part grandpa, part linebacker?

Either way, I was obviously very serious about my art.

Judging from the picture, there was no doubt I was eventually going to become a "church lady".  It really does scream "future organist" doesn't it?

When I look through old photo albums, there are so many pictures taken at the piano.  I must have been drawn to it, because it is evident that they weren't "posed."  I am just sitting there, because I want to be.

I know that music was always a high priority for my parents....especially my mom.  She didn't get to take piano lessons as a kid, and she was going to make sure that her kids got to do the things she didn't.  I think she happily lived vicariously through us.  My friend Lori recently told me that my mother had said to her "we will go without food before my kids will go without music lessons."  Now that is dedication!

Piano was my "thing."  It just became 'what I did.'  I never became some amazing child prodigy or virtuoso.  Instead, I became very proficient, and really good at sight reading.  I was too impatient to have to sit and work at a piece.  I wanted to just be able to PLAY it.  I made sure that I was able to do that. 

Singing seemed to follow naturally.  My sister was the stand-out singer...probably because I was the piano-hog.  I soon took on the role as "accompanist."  (Which is how I make my living today.)

I have to admit, I was jealous.  I would have loved to be the singer.  The pianist never gets any of the glory.  The singer gets to be the "star."  I think that was one of the reasons I was always such a shy performer.  I was so used to having a huge piece of "furniture" in front of me.  I had something to hide behind.  It was so much more comfortable for me to sing and play.  I never had to really make contact with the audience.  I always had something to do with my hands.  I never had to feel like I was "showing off."  

When I went to college, I started studying voice.  I remember my voice teacher trying to get me to "act" while I was singing.  It was sooooo hard for me.  I was perfectly happy just standing nice and still while singing my songs.  The problem was, my voice was really suited for musical theater.  Not exactly the kind of music you can just stand there and sing.  I was so worried I would look stupid.  I was so worried that people would think that I thought I was something special.  That was my biggest issue.  I was so worried about what other people thought.  It was that damn self esteem issue again.  And inside, I really DIDN'T feel like I was anything special, so to put myself out there was next to impossible for me.  How could I act like I was ready to take on the world....like I was this amazing character, when I just felt so small and shy?

I was much better at it when I was actually in a show...because I could become the character, and feel ok about that.  It was just when I had to become a character while singing one song on the recital hall stage, or while my teacher was watching me in my lesson.  It was so hard.

~ 

Fast forward 20 years.  I had done tons of playing/singing...but no real "performing."

Suddenly I am planning this huge show with my friend....who just happened to have performed on Broadway for 10 years.  Yeah.  That's not intimidating or anything.

I remember standing back stage before the opening number, feeling like I was going to have a panic attack.  Positive that I would forget all my lines, all of my lyrics, and would just die right there on stage.  I got through the opening number...and as I crossed the stage, I looked into the audience, and saw a couple from my church in the front row.  The strangest thing happened.  I suddenly felt this indescribable feeling of complete calm and peace come over me.  It literally was a sensation that started at my head and went down my entire body.  It took away every ounce of dread and fear that I had...and I just had FUN.  I trusted in my ability, I let myself be funny, I put myself out there...and I FELT SO GOOD.  Why hadn't I done that years ago?

I had finally stopped worrying about everything.  (I haven't been nervous about a performance since....tiny butterflies maybe...but no more terror!)

~

I also realized that by going out there and kicking some ass did NOT make me look like I was being pompous or self absorbed.  Rather, it just meant I was doing my job.  I was giving a good performance.  As a teacher, nothing drives me more insane than kids that stand up to do a solo, and act completely apologetic about what they are about to do, and then just slump away after, ignoring the applause.  Stand up and be proud!  

Why does it take me SO LONG TO FIGURE THIS STUFF OUT?!

~

One thing I have known from the start is that music is my outlet, my soul food.

I remember in high school (or should we call it drama-ville)...my only escape was the piano.

To say my relationship with my mom was tumultuous would be an understatement.  We were both very stubborn and too much alike.  She was controlling, I was a free spirit and rebellious.  NOT a good combination.  Whenever I was alone in the house (not often enough) I would turn off all the lights except for the piano light, and play every minor piece I could find.  It was how I poured out my emotions.  I continue to do that.

I often come home to find my daughter doing the very same thing.  Hmmm....I wonder if that means that I drive her nuts??

The past couple of years, I found that I needed more.  I craved that interaction with an audience.  I was finally ready to put myself out there.  I got a part in "The Spitfire Grill" (a GORGEOUS musical, if you aren't familiar with it) and fell in love with the stage.  This started my crazy two year, "I am going to be on this damn stage constantly" run.  Each show got more ridiculous.  (We moved on to comedies.) And I got more comfortable with completely stepping outside my box.

Paula's Purse 4

But my most life giving, soul feeding concert thus far was doing an Eva Cassidy tribute.

Notice the extra handsome drummer in the background. ;)

And the very best part about it was not only was the band made up of amazing musicians, who were some of my best buds....but this was the first time my daughter and I sang in public together.  

She has been ripping it up with me ever since. :)

So here is what I hope for you.

Find something that makes you excited each day.

Something that makes you feel blissful, not prideful.

Find something that makes all of your troubles disappear...even if it is just for a little while.

Find something, where even the thought of it, makes you smile.

Now ask yourself "How can I incorporate this into my day?"

Now, schedule that time into your calendar....so it becomes a priority.

Two days ago...yes only two days ago, I started playing the piano again.  Of course, I never stopped playing, but I started playing for ME.  I dug out all of my big, huge classical books, and started playing.  I decided, after listening to those 8th graders kick my butt at the honor's recital last weekend, that I needed to start actually playing again.  I also figure, considering my mom's disease, it is good for my brain.  It is just a small, little thing I have added to my day....but I am making it a priority.  Just like this blog.

I have about 30 journals.  All of them have about 5 entries in them....and then I give up.  I hate journaling.  I just like buying the journals, because I LOVE PRETTY PAPER THINGS!

This blog, however is different.  Apparently I enjoy writing when I can share it with others.  I have no desire to write for myself I guess.  Unless I am depressed or ticked off about something.  My poor husband.  When I die, he is going to have a pile of journals to read, and all of them are just me bitching about him and the kids.  Can someone just come and burn those in the event of my untimely demise, please?  

I have also come to realize that my posts are TOO LONG!  I apologize for my incessant babbling.

In closing.  If you haven't already...get out there and find something to feed your soul.  I am going to keep preaching this.  Perhaps if I write about it for 21 days, it will become a habit. ;)

I should write about cleaning my house for 21 days.  (Obviously my plan to actually write about getting my to-do list done for 31 days has yet to happen.)  

My goal for today is to make my house pretty.  The in-laws are coming tonight.  If all goes well, I will post before and after shots.  I can certainly supply the mess for the "before."

Have a super Friday.

This would be a good start  for our "soul feeding!"

No Conditions

Last night I played for a "Healing Service" at my church.

Any parishioner who would like to be anointed and blessed was welcome to attend.  It is a lovely ceremony, because the students in the 7th grade religious education class are there, and they sit behind the parishioners who have come for the anointing.  When the priest comes around for the "laying on of hands," the student who is sitting behind the parishioner puts his or her hands on the shoulders of the person being anointed.  It is beautiful.  It is also hard to watch sometimes, because there are many tears that are shed.  I typically find myself trying to continue playing through my own tears, just because it is so moving to watch how profoundly moved these people are.  The first man who was anointed immediately began to weep as Father laid his hands on his head.  One can only imagine what inner turmoil these people may be going through.  I see them every weekend at church, and we smile and say hello.  I, of course, have no idea who amongst them is actually dealing with illness, sadness, loss, or any number of things that they hold in the silence of their hearts.

I think a lot of the emotion during the anointing has to do with the fact that in that moment, that person is feeling fully cared for, fully loved, and fully blessed.  Who doesn't want to experience that?

I think of the times in my life when I am going through hardships, and someone comes up to me, looks me in the eye and asks, "how are you really doing?"  I usually break down at that moment.  Not because I feel sorry for myself, but because some one really cares.  

Isn't that all we really want in life?  To have people who really care about us?

~

I was discussing this with my husband on the way home after.  The concept of truly caring about people...with no strings attached.  I think we all have people in our lives who seem to care when it is convenient for them.  But there always seems to be an ulterior motive.  Maybe there is something they want from us, or something they need us to do for them.  And, once they get what they want, they seem to fade into the woodwork, until we become useful to them once again.

I have never understood that.  I will never understand that.  Actually, I don't want to understand that. It must be a sad existence when your relationships revolve around "what you can do for me."

It took me a long time to figure it out, but life is so much better when you just open yourself up to the good, and brush away the bad.  I have people in my life who care so much more about things than people.  When I finally took a step back to look at the big picture, I realized that sadly, that is all they have.  Things.  There are no people in their lives, because the relationships that could have been built and nurtured were broken and destroyed.  It's all about priorities.

I think the first step to creating strong relationships with others is to start with yourself.

It goes without saying that anyone who is miserable and who enjoys stirring up trouble for others obviously has lots of issues of their own that they need to work through.

My biggest problem used to be worrying about what everyone thought about me.

"Stinkin' thinkin'"

I actually went to a therapist once because a guy in my choir didn't seem to like me, and wasn't responding positively to me at all.  It was completely throwing me for a loop, and rather than just ignoring it (what I would do now) I was going crazy about it.  I was so upset about it, I sought help for it.  The therapist gave me a handout about "stinkin thinkin"......the crap we conjure up in our own minds to make ourselves miserable.  I just assumed the guy hated me, and I couldn't figure out why.  It turned out he was just sitting back and trying to figure me out....that's all.  Now we are best buds.

Because of my obsession with worrying about everyone "liking me", or approving of me, I was seriously a constant ball of anxiety.  If anyone looked at my strangely, or leaned to the person next to them and whispered something, I KNEW they were talking about me....and it was NOT something good! (And I used to teach!  Middle and High School!!!)

Insecurity was the name of my game.  It was ridiculous.

I am not going to say that I'm not insecure any more.  I still am.  I still get upset over stupid crap.  I still doubt myself.  I still feel totally clumsy and frumpy whenever I'm around a group of perfect, gorgeous women, or really smart people, or a football team...or whatever.

What is different now is that I DON'T CARE.  I have always been pretty outspoken, but I no longer worry about whether or not what I say is going to make someone mad.  

I never write or say anything to intentionally hurt anyone.  I state what I'm feeling.  That's it.  If anyone gets mad at me for what I'm feeling....well, that's is just plain silly.

I know some people think it's inappropriate that I write about my mom.  Here is my take on that.

 She is my mom.  I write about her because she is going through something awful, and A LOT of people ask me how she is doing....ALL THE TIME.  I am not going to sugar coat this damn disease.  I am not going to pretend it is all rainbows and ponies.  I am going to write the TRUTH.  The more honest I am about what Alzheimer's does to a person, how it changes everything about them, how it affects their loved ones....the more AWARE people become about the disease.  

I think it would be ridiculous to NOT write about her.  It would be a disservice to not spread the truth about how horrendous this disease is.  I had no idea until I was thrown into it.  I used to joke about how I would "much rather lose my mind than my body."  Now I know better.  This is why I write about my mom.

And this is also why I write, period.  I always have something to say.  Most of the time it is just ridiculous gibberish, like the fact that both of my dogs are currently covered in parmesan cheese.  (And I really wish I was making that up.  My husband needs to maintain better control of the cheese container when shaking it over his pizza. ) But, sometimes I hope that I can put something useful out there that maybe helps someone work through some difficulty they are having.  Lord knows I have gone through just about every trial and tribulation known to man....so if I can save someone the heartache of plodding through it....I would be thrilled!

And so, I am going to continue down this path.  The path where I try not to take things too personally.  The path where I put myself out there, bare my soul, and live my life authentically and honestly.  I refuse to hide behind secrecy and shadows.  I will respect the privacy of others, but I will not be shamed into muteness when it comes to what is in my heart.

I will choose the high road, and I will always go to the source, because that is the respectable thing to do.  And, if someone takes issue with me, I expect them to do the same.  Nothing ever gets solved if people can't communicate with one another. Directly.

~

I hope that every one of you who reads my words knows how much your willingness to take the time out of your day to spend with my writings means to me.  YOU are the reason I stay up way past my bedtime staring at my computer, trying to come up with something profound to entertain you with.  You are the reason I am motivated to write EVERY SINGLE DAY.

You are the reason I am finally doing something in my life that truly FEEDS MY SOUL.

So, thank you!

I hope each and every one of you takes some time out of your day to do something that breathes new life into your spirit.  And if you haven't figure out what that is yet....take some time to just breathe!

Happy Thursday! xo

Cake helps.

Okay.  Can we just talk about how horrifying it is when you go to write your post for the day, and you are unable to log into your own blog account?

I do believe the universe is working against me today.

I apologize for the fact that I am beginning my Wednesday writings at 12:30pm.  Not exactly what I had planned.

It all started at 5:30 this morning.  I made the mistake of grabbing my warm little chihuahua, snuggling him in my arms like a baby, and nestling him under my chin.  After a couple little piggy snorts, he settled in, and the two of us fell asleep and didn't move.  For the next three hours.

I had to book it to my rehearsal this morning, since, obviously, getting out of bed was not desirable.  Since I never got around to eating, I stopped off at the store on the way home to pick up some caramel apples.  (I decided I'm not sick of them anymore.) Always a horrible idea when you are starving.  $78.00 later, I came home to begin writing.  Or to attempt to.  I actually thought the end was here.  That I would forever be locked out of blogger land.  It wasn't pretty.

It's a good thing I picked up some cake at the store too.  It got me through.

While trying to figure out what the heck to write about today, I was also trying to put a roll of toilet paper on the holder thingy.  I should mention that I HATE the toilet paper holder in my bathroom.  It is plastic, ugly, and awful.  Also, every time I attempt to put a roll of paper on it, the spring inside pops one end off the roller part, and it goes flying across the room.

It makes me crazy. (and it looks, most unfortunately, like a tampon in this pic.  So sorry.)

That led me to thinking about earlier in the day, when I had a complete meltdown over the dishes.  

I was putting the dishes Mark had washed away.  Here is my feeling about hand washing dishes.  If you are going to take the time to do it....do it right.

I have a bit of a perfection problem in certain areas.  For instance, I have no desire to eat off of dirty dishes, or drink out of glasses that have been washed with a nasty old sponge.  

My husband, on the other hand, doesn't seem so bothered by that.

I noticed that the dishes were a little less than sanitary looking as I was putting them away.  I started putting them in the dishwasher, rather than the cupboard.  I was in a bit of a fragile state anyway, so the more dirt I saw, the angrier I got.

Eventually, I was on the kitchen floor, sobbing uncontrollably.  It was not attractive.  

I decided I would jot down some other things that make me crazy.

~

While perusing Facebook last night, I came across an article about a condition (an ACTUAL condition) that causes rage over the sounds people make when eating.  This was a huge relief, as I most definitely have this condition.  In fact, I would say that this is what caused 80% of my issues with my mother growing up.  I absolutely was incapable of dealing with any of her "mouth sounds."  Whether it was when she spoke (she had that "smacky cotton mouth" thing going on all the time) or how she ate or chewed gum....EVERYTHING made me INSANE.  Literally, made me want to throw myself off a cliff.  She thought I was just being a little snot.  In reality, I was simply suffering from Misophonia.

Now we know.

Ironically, whenever animals make these noises (and they do....all the time.) I think it's adorable.  Go figure.

Back to my dishes meltdown.  I also have a hard time when my lovely family members put the dishes away....and the end result looks like this.

 Because obviously, all those little organizers I put in the drawers are simply for looks.  Why would we actually want to use them?

Or...even worse...they put them in the WRONG PLACE ALTOGETHER!! 

One of my daughters favorite habits is to take her shoes off as she enters the house...and leave them.  Right where she took them off.  Which is ALWAYS right in front of the door.  Because why would we care about other people tripping over them, when we can simply do what is most convenient? Right?

Another favorite of mine is the old "empty container put back in the fridge/cupboard" trick.

My son is soooo good at this one.  I can't tell you the number of times I have found empty water bottles, cereal boxes, chip bags...you name it, put back in the pantry or wherever he grabbed it from in the first place.  He also loves to put the half filled soda cups from fast food places in the fridge, because we all know how delicious it will taste in a few days!

There are SO many more wonderful things I could share with you....but I will save them for another day.  

~

Instead, I would like to now share with you something wonderful!

Today I am celebrating the birthday of a brand new teenager!

Miss Madison Rapuano is 13!!

Maddy and Gigi

This gorgeous girl is my BFF's daughter.  You may remember me writing about Jenny....my sweet soulmate from New Jersey.  

Maddy is her "mini-me".  I wish I could see her more often!  Every time I do get to see her, I swear she grows another foot!!

Look at those legs!  Can you believe this beautiful girl is only 13?!  

Not only is she stunning, and TALL!  But she is also the sweetest thing you will ever meet.

She also makes her parents so proud every single day.  I love hearing her mama talk about her.  I'm sure she doesn't even realize it, but she really is her moms whole world.  Maddy...if you are reading this, I hope you know that you are one loved and treasured girl.  Every time your mom talks about you, it is with such pride and love.  You are so cherished. 

Love this!  Lipgloss is important while canoeing!! 

Happy birthday, sweet Maddy!  Love you today, and always!!

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

The Next Chapter

Today would have been my dads 69th birthday.

I can't even imagine him as a 69 year old man.  He will forever be 49 in my mind.  It's hard to believe that I am only 7 years away from the age at which we lost him.  He seemed very young back then.  Now that I am in my 40's, it seems even more tragic.  No one should have their life end that soon.  No one should miss out on their daughters' weddings, and their grandkids, and retirement, especially after  working yourself to the bone your entire life.

No one should lose their dad when he is only 49.

No one should lose a parent until they are OLD, and have lived a long, full life, and are ready to move on to their next chapter.  None of us were ready for the next chapter.  In fact, we are all still trying to heal and recover from that unexpected chapter...and it has been almost 20 years.  Funny how life pulls the rug out from under you sometimes.

~

Many of you know the story.  Many of you grieved with us.  Many of you felt that profound loss in your lives as well.  My dad touched a lot of lives...more than he ever knew.

I share this story today, not for myself.  I share it for him.  For if you didn't have the pleasure of knowing Marty Ekern, I would love to pass a little piece of this amazing man on to you.  And, if you did know him, maybe this will be a time to relive some memories of the role he played in your life.

Marty as a boy...always with that smile on his face.

It is hard to know what memories to share.  There are so many.  Whenever I picture my dad, he is either driving the tractor, or coming out of the barn...smiling, waving, and heading toward me for a big hug.  To say he was a hard worker would be the understatement of the century.  He taught science for several years before taking over the family farm.  It was a dairy farm, so he took care of the cattle and land at our place, as well as milked the cows and farmed the land at my grandparent's place.  Eventually, we moved to their farm, and he only had to worry about one location.  I remember how he and his friends Donny and Russ would help each other out with the field work.  The three of them would work on each other's land until it was done, and then move to the next farm.  They were quite the team.  

Every noon hour would involve a group of guys coming up to the house for lunch....always a big meal of meat and potatoes.  Every stereotype you hear about farming is true.  Every wonderful last one of them.  It was good, wholesome country living.

The thing that always amazed me about my dad is that I never heard him complain.  I remember coming home from school to find him at the kitchen table with his hand completely bandaged up.  (He was NEVER in the house after school...so I knew something was up.) He had lost his entire ring finger in a farming accident that day....on the same hand that he had already lost the tip of his index finger in another accident.  Most men would have been devastated by the disfigurement, the pain, the frustration of trying to adjust to life without your finger.  He would just hold that three fingered hand up and joke "I worked FIVE years in that sawmill."  

Another time, he was attacked by a bull in the barnyard.  The last thing he remembered was the bull charging at him.  He came to about an hour later when the barn phone rang.  We have no idea what happened to him...but he was very bruised and bloodied.  Once again, not one complaint.

~

Life was always interesting at our house, as there would often be strangers who would stop by, looking for work.  My dad never hesitated to take them in, and give them a meal, and a day's work and pay....even if he really couldn't afford it.  I remember this one wild bunch who came with their beat up car, and their long hair and beards.  It was raining pretty hard when they left that day, but their windshield wipers were broken.  So, they tied twine to them, and had a guy hanging out each window, pulling the wipers from side to side.  Excellent entertainment for the farmer's kids anyway!

Another time, there was a circus performer from Canada who asked if he could sleep in the barn.  Dad got out the huge frying pan (and it was HUGE) to make a big stir fry over the fire pit in the back yard.  Before he started cooking, the guy took this heavy, cast iron pan, and was walking around the yard, balancing it on his chin.  Like I said, never a dull moment.

Even though he was always working....you never questioned his love for you.  He was a quiet, gentle soul, who would give anyone the shirt off his back...and he did.  Literally.

The best part about him, though, was his sense of humor.  He was laid back, and didn't say much....but when he did, it was usually hilarious.  He was super witty and would catch you off guard, because you never saw it coming.  He always made us laugh.

Weren't they adorable? I was pretty cute too. ;)

To us girls, our dad was invincible.  There was nothing he couldn't do.  He could fix anything, build anything, do ANYTHING.  When I went off to college, he did the same.  He decided it was time to get back into education.  He was hired as an assistant principal and athletic director, and was fantastic at it.  He would work, take classes at the University, and then do chores at night. (He hired someone for the morning.)  

The summer of 1995 was when everything was finally coming together.  I had just graduated from college, and was about to start my first teaching job.  I was engaged to be married that December.  My dad had sold all the livestock, and now only had the field work to do during the summers, so, for the first time in his life...he had freedom.  

The week before the new school year was to begin, we decided to have one last hurrah.  My sisters, dad, and our boyfriends were going to take the day to go canoeing, while my mom was out shopping. (Dad's 50th birthday was coming up, and she wanted to get a head start.)

A friend of dads had told him about this pretty waterfall about an hour from where we lived.  We decided that was to be our destination.  I should also mention that we have been canoeing since I was a toddler.  Other people take summer vacations...my family went canoeing.  We were tied to the farm, so this was our pastime.  We were experienced as well.  We had canoed the Brule River several times, and were very capable of handling rapids.

In my 23 years, I had never once tipped in a canoe.  Within the first 3 minutes of this trip...all three of our canoes tipped.

We were not aware of the fact that the cranberry bogs had been drained into the creek we were canoeing, as well as the fact that the waters were swollen because of the extreme levels of rainfall that summer.   The water levels were several feet higher than normal.

We endured several more tips as our attempt to get downstream went on.  At one point, I went under and was dragged along the bottom of the creek bed, cutting my arm, and losing my glasses.

I remember my dad asking me "should we turn around?"  If only I could go back in time.

All I could think was "How?  How would we carry three canoes all the way back to where we put in? We would be walking through dense woods, and it would be a nightmare."

I had no idea the nightmare hadn't even begun.

This is Polly Falls on a normal year.  Water levels were about 3-4 times higher than this in '95.

The next 30 minutes or so is jumbled confusion in my mind.  I remember being pulled by the current into this "pool" after our final tip.  I believe one or both of my sisters was in the water too at that point.  I remember my dad grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the water and helping me back into my canoe.  The next thing I remember was Mark slamming us into a tree on the side of the creek.  I was mad at him for doing that...having no idea why he though that was a good idea.  Because I no longer had my glasses...I couldn't see that we were only feet away from the falls, and he was steering us to safety.

I remember being back in the water again.  I'm not sure if I fell in, or was just trying to get to land.  My sister Kris and her (now husband) Dan had attempted to pull in behind us, but the canoe tipped again.  She was being pulled downstream by the current.  I reached out to grab her, but she was too far away.  Again, at this point, I had no idea the falls were just ahead.

From behind her, the canoe she had been in hit me, and then proceeded downstream before I could stop it.  All I could imagine was that it was going to hit her.

Suddenly I heard screaming.  I remember scrambling to shore and scaling up the side of this hill, trying to get to where I could see what was happening.  I remember hearing "Kris is drowning!"

She had a lifejacket on...but it was no match for this waterfall.  The water was so high, and so forceful, that it pulled her right under.  I remember her saying afterward that it would have been so easy to "just let go."  She said the only thing that kept her fighting was the fact that she really wanted to have kids someday.  

I soon realized that my dad and Emily were already on the shore beside the waterfall before any of this began to take place...and the second Kris was pulled into the falls, my dad dove in after her.  

The canoe that had been pulled downstream was now churning in the falls....I was certain it was going to hit one or both of them and kill them.

The rocks on the falls are a straight drop off.  There is no ledge on which to step.  Somehow, my dad was able to lift my sister up in this 8 feet of raging water and push her to safety.  

Fortunately, there was a family staying at a cabin on the other side of the falls, and a man had rushed downstream and across the creek when he heard the screaming.  He made his way over in time to pull Kris out when dad lifted her up.

My dad must have used every ounce of strength he had in him.

The man had a canoe paddle that he held out for dad to grab onto....but he said dad came up one last time, but his eyes just rolled back, and he disappeared.

The last thing I saw, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life, is my dad's legs shooting up above the water, and then sinking down, and he was gone.

That was the last time I ever saw my father.

~

I wish I could say that was the end of this story.  But it wasn't.

Divers searched for his body over the next few days.  During this time, two of the divers were pulled into the falls.  One made it out...the other wasn't so lucky.  He was a 40 year old husband and father of two.  His wife was the trauma nurse on call when he was rushed to the hospital.

We went to his funeral that week.  My dad still hadn't been found.

It had almost been a week, when we got word he had been located.  His body had been washed two miles downstream.  He had landed upright against a fallen tree, and sand had washed up on him, and had almost completely buried him.  The only part of his body that wasn't buried was the one thing we knew we would have to use to identify him at this point, since he had been in the water so long.  His three fingered hand.  He was buried up to his wrist.  Leave it to dad....always making  sure things are taken care of.

I should mention that he made sure his car keys found their way to us from inside his pocket the night of the accident.  He had to have been behind that....how else could we have ever found them?

Below the falls....beautiful.  This was completely flooded the summer of 1995.

I wish everyday that we had chosen a different path that day.  I always wonder how life would be different if this horrible day would have never happened.  It has changed each one of us profoundly.  To see your parent die right in front of your eyes, and not be able to do a damn thing about it is horrific.  Having to break the news to my mother was....I can't even come up with a word to describe that.

I am just so thankful that there was a family there who took us in, and cared for us, even though we were complete strangers.  

I am thankful for the outpouring of love and support in the days and weeks that followed.

I am thankful that I had 23 wonderful years with my dad.  Being the oldest, I was the luckiest, because I got the most time.  My little sister was only 16 when this happened.

What I struggle with is all that my mom has endured since that day.

How do you go from being married your entire adult life, to suddenly being completely alone?

And then she got cancer.

And now she has Alzheimer's.  

Where is the justness in that?

The only peace I get from all of this is that maybe now, with her memory clouded and fading, perhaps it will take the pain of her loss away.

One of last photos I have of the two of them.  Back when life was still the way it should be.

Happy birthday in heaven dad.  Thank you for always being my biggest fan, for always encouraging me to chase my dreams, and for always making me feel like I was special.  Thank you for showing us how to treat everyone like a friend, how to offer a hand to anyone in need, how to keep a smile on our face when we are feeling down.  Thank you for showing us what it means to put others before ourselves, the pride that comes from hard work, and importance of family.

No one will ever compare to you, dad.  In your short time on this earth, you touched more people by the example you set than you could ever imagine.  

Your love and dedication to your family was obvious every day of your life, and profound through your death.  When you said "I would do anything for my girls,"  you meant it.  You are so many amazing things....but with your very last breath on this earth, you showed the world what you have always been to your daughters....our hero.

Until I see you again....I will keep looking for your birds and butterflies.

I miss you and love you with every ounce of my being.

xo

If you still have your dad....go give him a big hug, and then one extra one for me.

Love to you, this Tuesday.

Always My Baby

Let me tell you a little bit about my Sunday afternoons.

If you read yesterdays blog, I mentioned that I was going to forget my worries, and take a nap.

On a normal day, if a nap is involved, I will attempt to sleep for an hour, and then face the fact that I will just have to wait until I can actually go to bed that night to finally get some rest.

Not on Sundays.  I should preface this by saying my Sunday mornings are busy, and early, and exhausting.  Ask any church musician, and they will tell you that their Sunday afternoon nap is sacred.  I always wondered why I could teach a full day and then head off to rehearsal at night on a normal week day, and feel fine, but after four hours of playing at church on Sunday, I was completely spent.  I once asked a pastor if he experienced this same phenomenon.  He did.  And he explained "consider the number of people you are dealing with each Sunday.  And then consider the amount of energy you need to expend to each of them.  This is why we are exhausted."

That made sense.

So, at 1:30 I crawled into bed with my ham sandwich and my remote control (and two dogs who sat far too close to that damn sandwich.)  

We probably shouldn't even discuss the fact that I was eating ham.  We all know about my piggy obsession, and I can't believe I actually purchased a pork product.  However, the hot ham slices and the free buns at the grocery store just took over all sense of logic and the greater good yesterday.

I am so sorry, my sweet little piggy friends.

I now feel like a baby killer. 

Around 6pm, I emerged from my slumbering bliss.  (Don't worry, I watched a couple of shows first, so I only slept for about three hours.)

I got up, made another ham sandwich...good Lord....and went back to bed.

Hey, I had lots of DVR'd shows to catch up on!

This is my favorite part though...because this is when my 14 year old son typically crawls into bed with me to hang out.

Sometimes he watches TV with me.  Usually, he just listens to his music, or plays a video game...but HE SITS IN MY BED WITH ME!  

When he was little (ok...up until like 6th grade) he was my snuggle buddy.  My best friend.  My sweet angel.  Now, he is a lot less snuggly.  However, the fact that I still can have a couple of hours with him just sitting with me is priceless.  And sometimes, he lays his head by me and falls asleep.

soooooo sweet!

And then, after an entire day of being a complete bum, it's time for bed. (LOL...ok...it's time to go to SLEEP.  Again.)   My husband comes in to get ready to go to bed, and gives Sam the "seriously dude?  Can I have my bed back?" look.  And Sam, every single time, looks disappointed that he has to get up and leave.  Because apparently, he actually likes to sit with his mama, and maybe he isn't quite ready to go back to his own room just yet.  Even if he is a teenager, and is in high school.

Because in the end....he will always be my baby boy.

Happy Monday!  

Ummm, yeah.

This picture.

If it were captioned, it would, of course, say "Are you #$&*%(& kidding me?!!"

I have a very hazy memory of this day.  I am pretty sure I was pissed about the dress. 

Apparently I felt I was much too sophisticated for an apple dress at this stage in my life.  

What I love most about this photo is that the "look" (on my face, not my attire) pretty much sums up my attitude 98.7% of the time.

Actually, I am pretty sure that once my sister was born, and I was no longer the only child (aka: princess) this was what I looked like.  Every single day.

I share this with you today, because it is cuter than if I took a picture of me currently making that face (which I am.) 

Yes, this weekend has put that look of pure joy and elation right out there for all the world to see.

If you are late to the game...read yesterdays blog.

~

In an effort to start TODAY off better, I went to bed at 9:30 last night.  I was so excited about the fact that I would actually be rested for my four hour stint at church this morning.

Then 2:00am hit, along with a migraine from hell.  4 pills, one ice pack and three hours later, I was finally sleeping peacefully....for 55 minutes until my alarm went off.

(cue: "the face")

I got to church, and asked my friend Larry to look at my damaged car. (He works in a body shop.)  I asked him to give me a ball park guesstimate of what I would be looking at to make my car pretty again.

$5,000.

After considering running my daughter over and using her life insurance money for the repair bill, I calmed down, and tried not to think about it for the next 4 hours.

~

Then I called my sister.  My mother is still on this crazy rampage that my sis is the devil incarnate.  My sister, who lovingly cares for her, bathes her, rubs her head when she tucks her in at night, prepares beautiful, organic meals for her.  SERIOUSLY?!!!!

So, now I ponder how to grow a money tree, and how to mentally prepare myself for the possibility of being a full time caregiver again if we can't get this detour to crazy-land figured out.

Weren't Sundays supposed to be my "Good Things" day?!

Well, there was a ray of sunshine in my day.

I found the PERFECT pumpkin at the Farmer's Market.  And Cooper approves.  

We actually found a whole slew of perfect pumpkins.  I think the great carving event will be fantastic this year.  

It might be hard to compare with last years masterpieces...but we are up to the challenge!

Halloween 2013

And now....for my attempt to turn this day around.....I'm off to take a nap.

Have a lovely Sunday!  xo