Raindrops on Roses and Whiskers on Kittens

Ahhhhh.... the snoring hour. It's quite a rhythmic household tonight between the thunder, subsonic snoring and raindrops on the roof. I'm watching my favorite channel, the Weather Channel, and seeing that we're in for more of the same this week.... rain. Rain, Rain, and more Rain. The only good thing? I'm not having to haul the watering can around. The roses are absolutely beautiful soaking up all this liquid sunshine.

Listening to the wind whip around the house and through our woods I can't get my mind off our new little friend. Sweetie. A stray mama kitty who has completely captured my heart. Sweetie showed up on Friday looking a bit "round" and by Sunday evening looked quite the opposite. We have scoured the woods. We have searched high and low. We have looked in the hollows of trees. We have sifted through brush piles. We have done the perimeter. We cannot find her kittens. She arrives as quietly as she leaves and is quite cunning at keeping anyone from finding her nest. She is worrying me to pieces.

Wet food, dry food, fresh water, dry cedar box with fresh towels out of the wind and rain. I have rolled out the red carpet for her. But no occupants yet. She comes and hungrily scarfs all of the food down, gets a good long cuddling and head/neck scratching, stretches out on the cool concrete of the garage floor, then .... quick as a whip, you turn your head for one second ... and she's gone. Without a trace. The cat is a master. Yoda himself would be amazed.

I was able to get her to Dr. Lutz today for a quick check and blood test (good report all around!) and back home within 35 minutes so she wouldn't be away from her babies too long. Dr. Lutz said not to worry, she must have a good hiding spot.

Still, I can't stop worrying. The driving rain, booming thunder and flashing lightning make me scared for her. She won't move her kittens if she feels they are safe, so I need to stop being an impatient control freak and let her do the protecting.

Whiskers on kittens... one of my favorite things... hope I get to see them soon.

The Virus that Started a Virus

I will be the first to admit that I have a Facebook problem. When it first came out on college campuses it was a hit. Migrating into the public sector it grew like a virus by leaps and bounds. Hmmmm. A virus. Funny to mention that as I type on my good old Dell laptop back from the repair shop with an invoice blaring the following:

22 Virus Infections Removed
924 Trojans and Spyware Items Removed
45 Hijacked Items Removed
257 Registry Errors Removed
250.2 MB Temp Files Removed
Removed Corrupted Mcafee

The expert at the computer shop explained to my husband that the majority of the mess on my computer had come through Facebook. Then to top it off as he's packing up the computer he says to my beloved... "Your wife sure does like Facebook!" Geesh. I felt like a scolded child.

My husband HATES Facebook. I get a chuckle teasing him about his Facebook page he actually registered long ago. It shows a shadowed silhouette of a man's head with the simple statement... "Bob has no friends". He refuses to participate. Its not for lack of Friend Requests, he gets them all the time, he has made the staunch decision to have unwaivering opposition to Facebook. No social networking for Mr. Donnelly. His social life is in person, never on a computer. His social networking is around a firepit with his best buddies swapping stories and doing some swilling.

Today he got his day in court.
Lydia's laptop viruses = riddled beyond recognition
Bob's laptop viruses = 0

It's irresistible for me however to sign on and see what's happening in everyone's world, to feel connected and stay in touch. Human contact. That's what it's all about. And whether you do it in person or by computer the risk is the same... you just might get a virus.

Kids, What's the Matter With Kids Today

When my brother was in high school his class did a school musical. It was my first real "show" and I am still amazed at how much I remember about it. The musical was Bye Bye Birdie and it completely rocked my world. One of my favorite songs from the production was originally sung by Paul Lynde in the movie who played the role of Harry MacAfee entitled "What's the Matter With Kids Today". It had a catchy tune, hilarious words and what I thought as a child, a very silly meaning.

I found myself singing that song tonight, and the meaning didn't seem so silly to me anymore.

Have I become Harry MacAfee? I've spent the evening collecting my real estate signs kids have stolen from houses and placed in other yards all over town, only to be topped off with a call from the Marietta Police Department about a vacant house. What IS the matter with some of these kids today? It makes me cringe at what our world is turning into. Such disrespect for others and others' property.

I realize that each generation evolves, but I find it interesting to see how manners have UN-evolved. Excuse me for a minute for some history. Take the G.I. Generation (born 1912-1927) for instance. Hard work, self reliance, respect for authority and civic obligation are characteristics of this generation. The next changeover, the Silent Generation (born 1925-1945), this group includes my parents, is said to have been concerned more with being cautious and conventional, women started to desire a family AND a career. Then there are our Baby Boomers (born 1946-1964). Known for being goal oriented, work-centric, affected by strong political events either drawing them closer to social causes or perhaps driving them away and creating distrust, however this generation is responsible for so many individual freedoms like civil rights, feminist cause, gay rights, privacy rights and handicapped rights. They were a busy group making changes.

When we get to Generations X and Y it is frustrating to experience the vast differences of ourselves and the GI Generation and how far we've fallen when it comes to manners. What kind of children are our generations raising as a whole? What values and morals are being emphasized? WHO is raising our children? Why is it that so many of the grandparents of today are raising their children's children? What is going wrong?

As I mentioned, I received a call from the Police Department about a group of children vandalizing one of our company's listings. The children had been caught thankfully before too much damage was done, and I was asked to come to the property to determine what fate was to become of the children. It was quite a diverse group. Some sincerely sorry for what they'd done, some indifferent and emotionless, others actually brazen enough to laugh about what was happening. With charges of vandalism, trespassing and littering facing them, they were willing to accept responsibility when I gave them the option of restitution for what they had done versus charging them and sending them up to juvenile hall. This was a chance for them to make good for their actions and hopefully learn a lesson.

Who would actually show up?

What I experienced next confirmed my theory of our social deterioration from generation to generation. I witnessed a 75 year old grandfather bring his grandchildren as well as tools and material to make sure they did their job and to "make right what they did wrong". It is important to note that this gentleman was ON TIME. These children are very fortunate to have a grandfather who is doing all he can to guide their paths while it is apparant their actual parents are not. Another child was there with his father and grandfather and ready to do what needed to be done, and had actually shown up early. On the other end of the spectrum I got to witness just why the troubles exist with some of these children. Little to no adult supervision from their parents, starved for attention and forced to be taking care of themselves at too young of an age. Not all of the children showed up. That was a disappointment. Even when given the opportunity to "take the right path", some children still choose to refuse it, and the parent isn't there to make them.

Too much. Too soon. Too fast.

Blossoms in the Breeze

As we rest in our room for an afternoon break, I am listening to the snores emanating from my dear mother (she will not be happy that I shared that with you) and was inspired to write a quick post while I am in our great nation’s capitol. There have been many reasons to bring my mother on this pilgrimage to Washington, DC, many that some folks might find surprising.

Firstly, my mother has always wanted to see the cherry blossoms on the Tidal Basin. As a girl growing up I can remember around Easter time every year she would get the new Ideals magazine. Quickly leafing through the pages together to the issue’s colorful scene of the Jefferson Memorial and the flowering trees we would be in awe. Every spring issue was guaranteed a cherry blossom spread. She would look at me with a big smile and say “wouldn’t that be something to see?!” And indeed it was. And we finally saw the real thing… together.

Secondly, my mother is an amazing letter-writer. She has written letters to our politicians and community leaders, to missionaries overseas, to strangers in need, to our military soldiers, to scores of people for a multitude of reasons. Maybe concern, or support, others for questions about decisions being made, whatever the reason, the power in her pen has been mighty. It pleased me greatly to watch her face light up as we explored the halls of the Library of Congress and the National Archives. There, at her fingertips were letters that created a country, letters that expressed the deepest of concerns, and letters that made a difference.

Thirdly, my mother is very patriotic. Most likely the most patriotic person I know next to my father. The drums and brass of John Philip Sousa can be found in her boom box any day of the week. The Pledge of Allegiance at the raising of her porch flag, Veteran’s Day parades and services in the cemetery, wearing poppies, memorizing patriotic verses, believing in everything the United States stands for, and supporting our troops and their families.

Finally, a trip to DC because every now and again, we two girls need to escape together. A mother-daughter out of town trip where we can talk non-stop, eat yummy food, go exciting places, indulge ourselves and just act plain silly. As the colder weather pushed through today with winds of 30 miles per hour, the beautiful white blossoms we came to see were floating through the air, like a soft, delicate snow of petals. Just as the blossoms were departing, so would we in the morning.

I am thinking back on our past three days and all of the wonderful sights, smells and sounds we have experienced.

There have been so many memories made and smiles shared. My favorite memory of this trip though will be of my beautiful mother, looking out over the Basin to the Jefferson Memorial, taking off her scarf and letting her white hair blow in the wind. Giving herself the freedom to be a blossom in the breeze.

A Week That Will Live In Infamy

It's taken me a few days to calm down and collect myself from the events of last week. Living a life on the edge has conditioned me to be what I thought fairly "seasoned" when it comes to handling conflict and trauma. I was wrong. Last week was a wave of upset with the departure of our dearest dog and family member Sunny. Sunny was our first child. Bob had always wanted a yellow lab, and I couldn't think of a more perfect wedding present than a lovable pup. She was everything a family dog could ever be and more. She was our baby, a Nana to our children, an honorary "cat" with our cat pack, the neighborhood pet (she had special stops at the neighbors who kept treats for her), a free spirit who loved to run and play. She was always happy. There are posts and posts that could be written for Sunny the Super Sundog. Once I can write them without falling apart, I will. We've never been a family without her, and it's a hard adjustment.

Friday came and I was starting to feel some relief that the week was almost over when the phone call came. The phone call that gave me the news that I have been in fear of for at least 12 years. "Your biopsy results are in, it's malignant melanoma. We need you to come in for surgery first thing Monday morning." Well, there it was.

The millions of thoughts running through my mind between the snores of Friday night to the snores of Sunday morning could fill the remainder of the Internet.

I can't blame anyone but myself.

Chocolate was a color I used to strive for. It made me feel beautiful, it made me feel skinny, it made me feel more comfortable in my own skin. Here I am at 42, scarred, freckled, wearing a big floppy hat and SPF 100. If anyone who is reading this particular post gets anything from it, I hope it's that if you go to a tanning bed, you STOP it right away. Use sunscreen and be smart out in the sun. It CAN kill you.

Monday morning came, a new day for a new week. Surgery was successful (thank you God and Dr. Sammons) and I go back in a few weeks for another scan.

Was God trying to tell me something last week? Of course. Life is short. Make the most of every day and don't have regrets that you carry with you. Pet your dog every chance you get, wear sunscreen when you go outside, pay attention to your body, don't think you're invincible, love the ones you're with and most of all, accept the consequences and yourself.

It was a dark and stormy night...

In my night time world between snores I've witnessed many a weather beater. Snow storms, wind storms, thunderstorms, hail storms, all kinds of storms. It's the kind of night that you know you'll end up having all sorts of company in bed. I've often wondered why bedding companies don't make a "family mattress". I can see the ad now... "Tired of being smashed into 5 inch wide strip on stormy nights? Unable to move your legs when sleeping with 7? Buy the Family Mattress! Twice the Mattress with Four Times the Space!"

Lying awake I count between the snores, then between the lightning and the thunder booms.... 1...2...3... then the pattering of sleepy feet coming down the hall with a quiet scared whisper "Mama? Can I get in bed with you?" I pull the covers back and Elena hops over into the middle. The thunder gets closer. The dog starts to pace. She comes over and is now face to face with me panting with fear. I pat the bottom of the bed and her 13 year old hips get her up and over and to the side. The lightning cracks wickedly close to the house. There is a gallop heard coming down the hall ... Carmen. She runs to my side of the bed and like a mother hen lifting up her feathers, I lift the comforter and pull her up into safety.

There we are, all squeezed together, when the cats decide to muscle in. Radar stretched out along my side and Tom snuggled up with Sunny. Its the kind of night that doesn't happen often, but when it does I try to remember every moment because one day it won't exist anymore, and I'll be back to weathering the storm in a bed of two.

It's quite a sight really. And a sound. Everyone sleeping ... and snoring.

Daffodils and Mayonnaise Jars

Ever since I was a little girl I have loved daffodils. They hold a very sentimental meaning to me for so many reasons. First, being a spring flower, the daffodils seasonally start to bloom right around my birthday. I can remember walking through the field across from 426 Dunkin Avenue in Bridgeport, West Virginia picking what daffodils I could to take home to my mother, excited that she would put them in a big glass mayonnaise jar in the middle of the kitchen table. I wasn't that fond of how daffodils smelled, but I loved the way they looked. Happy, bright, a small trumpet in the middle declaring "Joy to Ye People! Spring has Come!" When I moved from Bridegport to St. Marys, West Virginia, I was in the second grade and as you can imagine, not thrilled that we were moving. We were moving to a big old three story house next to the Baptist Church ... the parsonage. It was massive to an 8 year old girl. I knew no one. I had a huge bedroom all alone. I missed my best friend that I had to leave in Bridgeport, Annie Faris, and I wanted to go back.

Two days into our new life in St. Marys I was sulking in my second floor room and feeling sorry for myself when I kept hearing singing outside my window. I opened the window and propped a stick up to hold it and looked out. I hadn't realized that the house next door was about 3 feet away! I had never had a house so close to mine. The singing continued, and turned into humming. I caught a quick glimpse of white hair shuffling just under the open criss-cross window in the neighboring house. Spontaneously I shouted "Hellooo!". The humming stopped. I said "Hello over there!" Then a window opened on the other side of the criss-cross window room and a friendly elderly woman peered out and shouted back at me "Hello over THERE!" I had just met Mrs. West. We had a nice conversation from our second story windows.


The next morning on the front porch I was surprised with a lovely bunch of daffodils in a jelly jar with a simple note saying "Welcome, from Mrs. West".

Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all.

Spring after spring I watched the daffodils bloom around the churchyard, in the cemetery, in the park up the road and in the playground.

When it was time for me to go to college, I was thrilled to see the hillsides of daffodils in Philippi. On College Hill Road on the way up the hill to the college, there is a hill that blooms daffodils from top to bottom. I imagine they're out right now.


We would pick bundles of daffodils and sneak them off to our rooms to put in whatever empty jars we could find. I had never seen so many in one place.

Now in my 42nd year, I still get excited when its daffodil days. Watching my girls pick them out of the yard makes me smile, and I keep an old mayonnaise jar at the ready.