Random strangers - friends for life

September 19-28, 2013 – I just spent one entire week at the beaches in North Carolina.  I have never been so calm and at peace.  It was such a wonderful week and my sister Lisa and her husband John were so gracious.  Here are some of the things I did:  All of these things were a first for me:  I visited North Carolina, I had oysters, I had steamed crab, I saw dolphins in the ocean, I sat on a balcony overlooking the ocean, I spent 7 days on vacation!, I had red drum (a super delicious fish), I had this burning cheese stuff that was cheese soaked in brandy and fried and then set on fire at your table yummy, I watched pelicans swooping down and grabbing their dinner, I went to antique shops, I had raw tuna, I had a mixed drink in a restaurant, I wore a bathing suit every day for 7 days!, I got a tan!, I walked about 5 miles per day!  It was wonderful and I would go back in a minute!

My week of vacation allotted me time to meet people that I have never known before. As I stood on the beach talking with a woman named Brenda who lost her husband 22 years ago... we laughed at our stories and how similar they were. I have her contact information because she runs a Celebrate Recovery group and that has always been a tug on my heart to do that. But as I talked with her, I began to tell her about random people I have met over the years and how they have become fabulous friends. As I walked and walked and walked all week long along the isolated beaches, I felt the tug to write the stories of each of these people. I have no idea what I will call this mini-book, but it will be something like "Random strangers - friends for life" ... and I will begin with Lynda Sikorski who I met in a waiting room of the hospital while we were both pregnant and spending the day getting our glucose tolerance tests. 24 years later, she is still my super wonderful friend. Lynda and I can laugh and talk on the phone as if we have never been apart! Naomi Smith, who I met online when we were both going to have surgery and wondered how to take care of our paraplegic/quadraplegic men and still recover. She has been a comfort to me when nobody else understood. Mary Wagner, who I met through Emilie's nurse at the hospital (Janet) who was from Rwanda. Mary lives in Alabama and has been a rock of light for me and my family when we needed prayer. She has just signed me up on the Rwanda team to sew items for fundraising for them! Like Naomi, I have never met Mary in person, but I feel as though I have known them all my life. Lynne Eged Hart, who I met through Mary Wagner! Ha ha ha... how about that for a twist of events! Lynne's husband just passed away from the ravages of MS... super fabulous friend, super strong woman! Wrong number Helen... an elderly woman who I met through the phone call to my house that was a wrong number. Her son was looking for her and worried about her. I offered to visit. At 85 years of age, Helen and I were best buddies for years and years as I took her to doctor visits, lunch, and shopping. She laughed better than anyone I ever had the pleasure of knowing. And then there was D Carole Stanley. There are no words to describe the friendship I had with this woman. I met her as I was visiting her mom in a nursing home. Her mom's name was Mona (I loved her so much). I was a volunteer. Mona was weeping one day and said her daughter was in the hospital and she couldn't go see her. I offered... I arrived at Carole's hospital bed and walked in to see a woman, tiny, frail and full of laughter sitting with oxygen and IV's. We talked... our friendship started. From then on, we sat together on her bed as we watched movies, had pizza, sing-alongs, and talked almost every day on the phone for years. She went home to be with Jesus a few weeks after Mark. I love that woman.

And these are just a few stories. I am going to start writing them down and make a small book about it. I think it's important to make an opportunity of every place you go. (Once I asked someone at a gas station as they were pumping gas at the pump next to mine if I could pray for them in any way. They started to cry and said that they were on the way to prison to visit their son... I cried too... and I prayed...) Every place, every moment, every person is an opportunity to make a difference. These people I have mentioned are just a few in my life that have blessed me incredibly.

First day of school...the turning moment...

Today, as I am looking at all the photos of the kiddos going back to school, I remember the day Emilie left for kindergarten. It was the first time in 12 years that I had been home alone. I walked her to the bus stop and then my friend Liz and I went out to breakfast to celebrate my "freedom." When I came home from my fun hour of pampering, my husband was sitting on the front step. I asked him what he was doing home and he said "GE let everyone in my department go today. I'm officially unemployed." Well, I looked over at Liz and said 'so much for me being alone." That day, that fateful day that Mark Searle lost his job, as I see it now, was the turning point to our "plain old boring" life. He accepted a job at NYSEG in Ithaca right after that and we moved to Dryden. A few years later, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time in Ithaca and became paralyzed. Weird that one moment in time, a change in jobs or location or being in the wrong place can change the pathway of your life. Today I am realizing that nothing is permanent except God Himself. I told my sister today that I have never felt so alone...and she said "because you are counting on people to fill the void, when God is the only one that can do that." So...here I am, typing to people when I should be hanging out with God instead. So people reading this... Pray for me and my family. I'm off to go listen to some praise music and maybe make cranberry apple bread with all those zillions of apples that are still staring at me in my kitchen.

Defeated - only in MY mind...

This morning I opened my eyes and realized I slept all night in Mark's bed with my clothes on, the TV blaring, and all the lights on in the house. This is the first time in my entire life that I have felt so defeated that I wonder if God has abandoned me. It's even more devastating than losing Mark... and as the thoughts mull around in my head and the tears come raging like a river that never stops, memories of all the times that God has rescued us and been there for us flow faster than the tears. I guess He is telling me that He hasn't left. The verse of the day on my computer this morning was: I love the Lord, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live. Psalm 116:1-2 NIV

Cat-astrophe

My first couple experiences with cats were not good ones.  I took care of the neighbor’s cat ‘Bunny’ when they went away for vacation once.  I was about 10 and Bunny was a white, fluffy cat with brown and black markings, kinda like the way a cow looks.  Bunny and I were inseparable.  I imagined her being my cat whenever I played with her outside.  So, Mrs. Brooks, the neighbor thought that Bunny would be well cared for by me when they went away.  That was until Bunny followed me over to play ‘kick the can’ with the neighbor kids.  This would be the same neighbor kids that had two giant dogs that liked to eat cats.  So, there I was, walking across the yard of Deanne and Joanne’s (twins) house and Bunny following close behind when the dogs came charging at 100 mph at us.  I mistakenly thought that Bunny would want me to save her and pick her up so the dogs wouldn’t eat her.  She preferred to run for the hills.  Our communication wasn’t great though so I picked her up.  She gouged at my face and my head and used her claws and her teeth to tear my skin just enough so I would let go of her.  Of course, I did.  The cat was able to escape without a scratch.  I, on the other hand, had to sit in my mom’s kitchen as she patched up the scratches around my eyes and all over my face.  I have never seen so much blood, and honestly, I thought I was going to lose my eye.  My mother told me “I shouldn’t have tried to pick up the cat.”  My father, who is a professed ‘cat-hater’ wanted to go hunting for “bunny.”  After that, Bunny and I had an understanding.  She would follow me wherever I went if she wanted to, and I would never, ever touch her again.

My second experience with cats was when I babysat for some people that lived across the street.  I don’t remember the name of that cat, but I remember that cat like it was yesterday.  I think I still have nightmares about it every once in awhile.  The cat was completely black.  It had green hazel eyes that stared at me the entire time I was at the house.  No matter how late the family stayed out, I could never take a chance and close my eyes.  The cat would stare and let out this ungodly howling sound, like a horror movie soundtrack.  The hair stood up on the back of my neck and I would plant myself on the couch and not move all night long in fear of my life.  They had a fireplace mantle and the cat would sit on the mantle, directly across from me and stare.  All night.  Stare.  As if to dare me to stand up and challenge it.  Once, the owners told me that I could “put the cat in the basement” if it bothered me.  So I tried that.  Ha ha ha ha ha…  oh yeah, right.  I picked up the black cat as it squirmed and fought me.  I held it at arm’s length and opened the basement door and tossed it on the first step to the basement and slammed the door shut.  The rest of the night, the cat threw himself at the basement door with such fury that I was sure it was foaming at the mouth.  The sounds emitted from the basement sounded like the cat had somehow gotten stronger through the ordeal.  I was paranoid to open the door and petrified not to.  So finally, before the parents came home, I opened the door and ran to my safety zone of the couch before it could eat me.  The cat jumped up on the mantle and continued to howl and stare at me until they came home.  I was never going to ever, ever, ever own a cat…well, at least not until Mark Searle somehow convinced me.

Independence day - every day

Independence is an incredible thing. For years I watched Mark struggle to lose his "independence" and realized what a fabulous gift it is to just be able to run to the bathroom by myself and come back in a few minutes instead of 25 minutes with assistance. I can walk anywhere I want and get in bed by myself. I can fix my own food and drive my car with my feet. Independence is a wonderful thing for each of us... but our independence as a country was bought with a price. Take some time today to realize how fabulous it is to attend a church that you choose, shop freely, drive across our country without security, choose doctors, food, exercise and even fabric. My goodness, we have about 100 versions of toothpaste now to choose from!! Our country is free because of the soldiers that have given their life and given their time and given up their families and their "independence" to give us ours. Happy Independence Day!! Go ahead... walk somewhere and realize how much fun it is to feel your feet... xoxo Mark Searle (I heard the fireworks last night from inside the house, but I couldn't sit out on the porch and watch them without you...maybe next year)

A shovel and a snake...

Everywhere we have lived, we have been surrounded by fabulous neighbors.  I think the pattern started with our first house in Liverpool when we met the Robinsons.  They lived across the street and were a family of four, two girls, two parents.  When we moved in, we were still "married without children" so the Robinsons and our family knew each other, were friendly, but didn't really start to hang out until after Andrea was born in 1984.  All of a sudden, I was a mom and had no clue what I was doing and Deb (the mom Robinson) didn't know what she was doing either so we muddled along together.  :-) It set off a great friendship which would involve her entire family to this day.
Anyway, I have lots of Robinson stories, but one in particular I remembered today because I have to go out to work in the garden and I know there is a snake out there that greets me every time I am pulling weeds.
One day, after Andrea was born, I was home (I worked 2nd shift).  I was in the kitchen and out of the corner of my eye I saw something move along the floor.  I turned slowly, thinking it was my imagination, and dread filled my entire body as I realized it was a snake!!  A snake in my kitchen!!

I grabbed the orange phone (which we still have) attached to the wall and stood on a chair and called Mark at work.  I could barely be understood as I blabbered all sorts of hysteria to him about a snake in the kitchen and it must have come in through that crack in the basement wall and now we are infested and we need an exterminator and the snake is going to attack me and Andrea and we are not going to be alive when you get home so I hope you are happy that you said we couldn't afford to fix the crack in the basement wall now and you need to come home right away because I can't get off this chair and Andrea is taking a nap and I can't get down the hall to see her and I really don't like snakes.
There was a long pause at the end of my hysteria.  I said "Mark?" and he said "Yeah?"  I said "did you hear me?  Are you coming home?"  And he slowly and deliberately spoke these words "I'm sorry, but I can't."
Divorce papers flashed before my eyes.  I realized that I was ready to end the marriage and move on to someone who would come home from work to kill a snake for me.
I hung up.  He was ok with that.
I thought and thought and thought about how I was going to get off that chair.
And then, I remembered Dan across the street was home from work that day.  I called him on the phone and pretty much explained the entire scenario in hysteria as I did for Mark.  He said he would be right over!!  Now THAT'S what I'm talking about right there!
If I were to describe the snake to you now, thinking about what I have said over the phone and the hysteria, etc., what size do you think it was?
Well, that's the size Dan thought it was too!  He came over with a shovel and a bucket and work boots and gloves and looked like he was going to go after a Boa constrictor.  I forgot to mention that the snake was about 6 inches long and the size of a pencil around!
Dan walked in the house with all of his equipment to take out this man-eating monster, and stopped in his tracks on the dining room rug.  He put his hands on his knees and laughed and laughed and laughed.  He said "I thought you said you had a snake in your house?  This is barely the size of a worm!"
He picked it up gently (and I mean gently) and carried it outside and deposited it nicely in the garden.
I wanted him to tell Mark about the horrific scene when he showed up and how Mark should have been there for me, but instead Dan walked out of our house with all of his unused snake-killing equipment and laughing hysterically.
So the moral of today's story is that snakes always look bigger when you are alone!  And no matter how tiny they are, slithering snakes should be avoided at all costs.  AND neighbors that come to your rescue are fabulous even if they laugh at you.  AND husbands shouldn't be divorced because they are working and providing for you in different ways than you would like.  The end...

Orange crush

Our first house was in Liverpool.  We were so excited to have a house after two years of living in apartments.  The house was a contemporary one.  It had an "A" frame shape and giant windows across the front and the side of the house.  The livingroom was huge with cathedral ceilings and beams going across the top.  I don't think the house even had 1000 square feet, but it was huge to us and really fancy.  We bought the house in 1980 so it was decorated for the 1970's.  The carpet was dark brown in the living room.  Hardwood floors were throughout the three small bedrooms.  I can't remember what color the bathroom was, so it must not have been blue like our house in Dryden was because THAT I will remember forever.  The living room, dining room and kitchen were all open to each other.  The wall that was considered the eating area wall had crazy mod wallpaper on it.  It was vinyl and shiny and brown, black and white swirls over the entire wall (10' ceilings!!).  That's alot of swirl!  About 5 years into living there, I convinced Mark to put parque tile (like hardwood flooring) on that wall and it took him over 2 years to almost complete it and we ended up hiring someone to finish the rest, but it looked pretty nice.  The outlet on that wall will always be remembered as the one baby Andrea decided to put mommy's car keys into and proceeded to power-outage the entire house (and curl her hair for the rest of her life :-) 

The thing I remember most about that house was the kitchen carpet!  It was ORANGE!  And I mean orange like rainbow orange!  It was an indoor/outdoor carpet and the kitchen was really small, but the carpet added life to the browns and gold and avocado greens of the wallpaper in that room.  I kinda liked it for the first two hours we owned the house.  We walked into the house with our keys (that's such a weird feeling to have a 30 year mortgage when you're 22 and feel like you just signed away your entire life savings, but you are now a HOMEOWNER!)   We checked out the house up and down and went to the basement.  There was only one thing in the house that was left by the owners and that was a very large piece of plywood leaning up against the basement wall.  It must be that inspectors didn't inspect things back then the way they do now, because the entire foundational wall had a one inch crack from the window all the way down to the floor behind that plywood.  It was filled with caulk.  Um yeah!  So we ended up getting that repaired at some point, but that was the first thing that sunk our spirits.  

The next thing was that Mark declared we needed to get groceries because the refrigerator was empty and cupboards were bare.  We bought a bunch of junk food because we were 22 and celebrating.  Mark carried, like macho man, all the brown paper bags at once into the house and had probably 6 full grocery bags in his arms along with a 6 pack of orange soda bottles in his hand.  As he was walking into the kitchen, he somehow knocked the wall entering into the room with the bags and the soda and the cardboard carrier holding the soda split open.  All 6 bottles of soda went crashing down to the floor on top of each other and the bottles broke.  I stood in the middle of our brand new kitchen floor next to Mark as we watched in horror gluggling bottles of soda, ORANGE soda soaking the carpet, our shoes, the walls and the cupboards.  As if in slow motion, we looked up at each other and Mark said "well at least we bought the right color soda!"

Not funny Mark Searle, not funny at all!

(we had to replace the carpet within just a couple months of living there because the soda wasn't able to be removed from all the padding underneath...)

So duh!  ha ha ha... get it... so-da!

The moral of today's story is that inspectors aren't perfect, soda is bad for you, don't drink it (or spill it) and just about every memory, good or bad, will eventually be a good one to write about and learn from.  (We had so many wonderful things happen in our little house on Woodside Lane.  I will tell you about them someday).