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).

Treasures are in the eye of the beholder

Ok, on the risk of sounding morbid, I have been thinking alot about how short our lives are.  Really...even people who live like 90 or 100 years, that is really short!  Maybe it's because I have been going through Mark's things.  I hold items in my hand that he loved so much.  The ache in my chest gets stronger when I pick up items that he loved.  The dust from years of keeping magazines from the 1970s still intact and his handwriting on the boxes that label each issue.  I reach out and touch the  box, the handwriting, listen to his voice as he asked me to move them over and over to categorize them differently.  I think of how many times we moved these things and stored them in basements and closets that were 'dry and clean' to keep the integrity of these earthly items.
And now...here I am, struggling to find anyone who is interested in buying them for pennies, wondering why a treasure was so precious to one man and so "worthless" to others.
On Sunday I sang Amazing Grace at the nursing home, I heard the words "when we've been there 10,000 years, bright shining as the sun, we've no less days to sing God's praise than when we first begun."  Do you hear that?  10,000 years... if we live to be 100, we are considered old!  What about 1,000 of those 100's more?  Eternity is 10k as Mark would put it ...times 10k times 10k ...times as many 10k as you can write down for the rest of your existence.
I have been writing out the Book of Psalms:  Yesterday it was Psalm 39... whoa... does that ever get you thinking:
(The first part says "I will put a muzzle on my mouth to keep me from sin!"  which I haven't quite learned yet).
But pay attention to Verse 5:  You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you.  Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure.
So, I guess what I'm mumbling about today is that here we are, storing up our treasures on earth.  The car, the sewing machines :-), the nice house, the financial status, the 401K, the magazines :-) and it's a mere breath of time.  What are we doing to store up for eternity?  Pastor John said that earning a "good name" is important here on earth, but earning a good name for God's kingdom is more important.  He asked if you were applying to get into heaven and needed a character reference, would you be able to find someone to write you a letter of recommendation?  hmmm...  that's an interesting thought!
I'm off to see my financial guy today lol... and then take my daddio to the dentist (he still has all of his teeth!! and he is 90!  now that's OLD!)... ha ha ha!

When the going gets Tuffy

Mark had a cat growing up named Tuffy.  It was the meanest, most terrifying cat I have ever met.  Tuffy was a long-haired gray and gold tiger stripe.  His fur was matted and clumped up everywhere.  You couldn't go anywhere near that cat to brush it or clip it because you wouldn't live long enough to get to the hospital for the stitches.  You would have died from blood loss.  So everyone let Tuffy just exist and run the house.  Jen Searle will vouch for this story, every word of it is true!  The cat was mostly an indoor cat.  It slept on the couch, therefore anyone who wanted to sit on the couch was forbidden to do so.  If he changed his mind and slept on the chair, that meant you had to move.  Sometimes Tuffy went out to the garage and would prowl around out there and check out the nooks and crannies for mice or to bury things that he killed earlier in the day, who knows.
The funny thing about Tuffy is that he would climb up the door in the kitchen that led to the garage and he would suspend himself 4 feet off the ground looking outside.  It was a signal to open the door.  Tuffy also did this for coming in from the garage.  If you were in the kitchen, sometimes you would jump a mile from a sound of a 15 pound cat throwing himself at the door's window.  He would stick his claws out and hold himself up staring at you through the window with hazel green eyes that saw right through you.  At that point you had a choice: open the door and let the cat in the house, losing your seat and probably getting bit, OR leaving him out in the garage so that when he came in later, he would get revenge.
The reason I am writing this is twofold.  One is because up until I met Mark, we never had any pets.  Thinking about how devastated I am to lose our cat now, makes me remember.  I was afraid of dogs and terrified of cats.  Tuffy didn't help the situation, as a matter of fact, I was convinced that having animals was dangerous and a crazy thing to do! HA ha ha!!!  Whoa, have times ever changed!
The second reason is because one time Mark Searle was out in the garage up in the attic trying to retrieve some things for his dad.  You could hear him shuffling around in the rafters as his dad and I sat in the living room and chatted.  All of a sudden we heard a crashing sound from the garage and we looked over and there was Tuffy hanging on the window.  We ignored him and figured that Mark could be the brave one to let Tuffy in.  Homer and I kept chatting about stuff and again, we heard some rustling and then shouting.  I got up and walked to the kitchen door, looking out into the garage.  Mark's dad followed me.  There was Mark, hanging by one arm from the rafters and sheetrock and plaster covering his head and the floor.  He had fallen through the ceiling and was just hanging by one arm.  He looked as though he needed stitches along his arms and that Tuffy had gouged out half of his flesh from his arms.  The cat was mortified that we would blame him.
Mark's dad opened the garage door and burst out laughing.  Mark was still hanging there and said "could I get some help."    Homer continued to laugh while getting a step ladder and helping Mark to step down from the ceiling.  It cost us hundreds of dollars to help repair their ceiling and Mark never did find what his dad wanted.  After that, he never went up in the ceiling again.
Tuffy lived for about 100 more years and Mark somehow convinced me that getting a cat (or two) was a good idea.  I will tell you about that the next time.
Moral of the story:  when the going gets Tuffy, the Tuf gouge your eyes out... LOL... (not really)... when the going gets tough, we are supposed to call on God and say "can I get some help" and he sends a step ladder... one step at a time.

Answer the door...it's king kong...

I haven’t felt very much like writing the last couple of weeks.  There have been some circumstances that have had me occupied, sad and overwhelmed.  In the last three months, I have lost my husband, my very good friend, my daughter had surgery, my favorite car died, my most-expensive and favorite sewing machine died, my youngest child has been told there isn’t anything else they can do for her medically, my cat has a terminal illness, and some other things that I won’t mention for privacy issues are making me sad.  Today I imagined pounding God on the chest and saying to him “you are my FATHER, you are supposed to make it all better!  Can’t you see that I’m crying and sad here?  Do something!”  And then I imagined Him holding me and letting me cry until I couldn’t cry any longer (because that’s what I do best).  And somehow, I just know everything will still be ok even in this turmoil.

I decided I would write a story about Mark that lets you all know he wasn’t exactly as perfect as I have led you to believe.  Maybe it will help me not miss him so much… hmmm… I doubt it, but it’s worth a shot.

After we got married in September of 1978, Mark’s dad moved back in with Mark’s mom.  They lived in Cicero on a dark street in a small house.  There were no streetlights and there was a swamp across the street that was always a bit eerie to me.  We had been over to his parent’s house for a visit one Saturday autumn evening.  It was very dark outside, but I was inside, sitting on the couch with Mark’s arm across my shoulders, so I was content.  It was a warm night and the windows were open on either side of the pitcher window.   Mark’s father was telling us a story about his pitch game he had played earlier that day with some friends and we were all looking in his direction as he sat just to the side of the window.  Mark’s mom was in her usual chair by the kitchen.  All of us were enjoying Homer’s dissertation about his card game.   Some movement caught my eye from outside and I was not really sure what it was.  It looked like a dark shadow moving across the front yard and then coming closer to the house, but I shrugged it off.  It couldn’t be anything. It was probably just the way the light from the lamp was reflecting off the window and besides, Mark didn’t seem to notice at all.  So I focused back on the conversation and continued to listen to the antics of my father-in-law.  Then, as if I were living in a horror film, a dark, black, hairy creature popped up from outside the front yard and threw itself at the screen window.  It growled and screeched and clawed at the screen.  I grabbed Mark’s chest and screamed at the top of my lungs for I was sure we were all going to die at that very moment.  All I could hear was the sound of my own voice, high pitched and terrorized beyond belief.  My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure the animal at the screen was aware of it.  But something wasn’t right.  Mark, his mom and his dad weren’t screaming, they were laughing.  Hysterical, I mean tears running down their faces, laughing!!  I, too, had tears running down my face from the horror of what was happening.  It took me a few minutes to realize that I was the only one afraid.  As the realization hit me, the front door opened and in comes Butch, Mark’s really good friend from high school, who was in our wedding.  He is holding a gorilla mask in his hands and Mark and Butch do the man-hug thing in the living room and say “we really got her, didn’t we.” 

I believe that I was thinking something else that I cannot repeat here.  Utter disbelief came over me as I suddenly realized that this entire roomful of people had planned this charade as a funny joke!!  What is funny about that??  I ask you??  Any of you??  As I type this, I still wish I had time to tell Mark about how not funny that was…Not funny, Mark Searle… not funny at all!!

So today’s moral of the story is that even though things look dark, scary and not funny at all, underneath the mask, beneath the face of fear, is an explanation, a story, and even a time to remember…all things work together for good (as long as it’s not really a gorilla at your window trying to rip your face off…because I think that would be hard to make that sound like a good thing, no matter how you spin it).

Celebrating cold fruit...

I went to the quilt show in Rochester this weekend. Friday morning, I went to a lecture on longarm quilting and the entire time I was there, I had a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball. It is so odd to go places "fun" now because the only reason I can go is Mark isn't here anymore. It is such an overwhelming sadness that comes over me when I realize my freedom is for that very reason. So I only stayed for a few hours and never looked at one quilt on Friday. I picked up a book off my daughter's shelf that night and thumbed through it. It was called "Cold Tangerines" (Kristina Tanner recommended it a long time ago). Anyway, it's a delightful treasury of small stories. The introduction spoke of the overwhelming sadness in the world and how it can consume you if you allow it to. So she said to "give yourself permission to celebrate." 
On Saturday morning, I slept in with my grandpuppies and decided to just work in the yard and skip the quilt show... and then I got hot and realized that the quilt show was air conditioned so I went. 
I repeated the words "Cold tangerines" about a million times to myself that afternoon as I looked at the gorgeous handiwork of so many people. I kept on breathing and saying "it's ok to celebrate." And I had a great time. Then my sister and I went to church and then we went out to dinner and we had a wonderful evening. On Sunday my sister and I did yardwork together at my daughter's house and crazy enough...that turned out to be a super fun day too. So, now I am home... the sadness envelopes me... and then I think... I could go for a cold tangerine...

Your mission, Jim, should you decide to accept it...

Three months ago today Mark Searle let go of my hand and went home to be with Jesus. This past Sunday, I went to church with my mom and dad because my mother had a mass said for Mark. It is the church we were married in. I saw the marble steps and the aisle we walked down. I saw the photo of us running out of the church together and laughing. I remembered him so clearly there. It was a mix of happiness and overwhelming sadness. There was a woman sitting behind me with a severely disabled son, about the age of 10 or 11. After mass, my mom introduced me to the little boy's parents and told them that my husband just passed away. The woman told me how sorry she was for my loss. I mentioned that Mark was a paraplegic, and like her, I was a caregiver full time. It is the void of the caring for him that has been the most challenging for me (ok, and everything else too, including going to the grocery store and walking past all his favorite things, and on and on). She leaned in and gave me a hug. She whispered in my ear and said "Do not mourn too long. You are young and full of life. It is ok to mourn, but soon the time will come to live again." I have been mulling over those words again and again over the past couple days. It has been impossible for me to think about 'living again' without Mark. He has been my life for so long. It's weird that being a mom, shopping, paying bills, laundry, housework, appointments, going to bed and getting up, are all different now that Mark isn't here. I'm not sure I even know who Suzanne is without Mark! But maybe that's still living. It's not the same, but it's still living. I am full of life (not skipping full of life), but my heart is beating and I'm breathing so I guess that means God has decided to give me a longer time here. Unbearable, crushing sadness greets me every day, but beautiful precious memories do too. This morning when I couldn't sleep at 3:00 am, I walked to the dining room and opened my bible. I am writing out the book of Psalms these days so that I can fill my head with precious thoughts of God's strength and mercy in my life. I am on Psalm 25. This is part of my message today: Psalm 25:16Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. 17 Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish. AMEN to that! I am going to go live today... (starting by cleaning out the garage! ha ha!)

the CAT's Scan

There are so many memories every single day.  Most of them bring buckets of tears followed by laughter.  I didn’t think it was possible to cry as much as I do and still survive.  Today I was asking Emilie if she thought the cat (our oldest 12 year old) was acting funny.  His name is Little Head.  Do you want to know how he got that name?  Well, I will tell you.  A little orange and white kitten came to our house for Emilie’s birthday one year.  She couldn’t decide on a name so we called him “kitty” for about 3 or 4 months.  One day, Mark said “Your cat is getting fat Emilie.”  And she said “he’s not fat, he just has a little head.”  And so the name stuck.  Today, as I am looking at this old bedraggled cat that has been in fights, an incubator for parasites, a mouser, and the most affectionate and purring indoor/outdoor cat a person could ever ask for, I remembered a story that started the laughing and crying machine up again.

About 6 years ago, I was walking down the hallway and I noticed the cat was having some sort of seizure.  He was violently thrashing his head back and forth and unable to walk.  I screamed for Mark and he said it didn’t look good.  I called the vet who happened to be out of town so we were sent to Cornell Animal Hospital right away.  I put Little Head in the carrier and was absolutely sobbing on the way out the door.  I remember saying these exact words loud enough for Mark to hear “everything I love gets taken away from me.”  Something was going on at the time (now there’s a surprise) that was pretty serious and I had been distraught all day over that news…and then this!

After arriving by myself at Cornell and sitting through the long process of waiting to find out what was wrong with our cat, the doctor and tech came in and said that they needed to perform a CAT scan (really!! They actually said that!) on my cat to find out if he had a brain tumor or a parasitic infection.  I asked how much it would be and they said $2500.  I told them that I couldn’t afford $2500 for my cat and that I would have to talk to my husband.  They picked up a phone in the little tiny room and suggested that I call him right now!  So, awkwardly, while the two of them stood in the room and listened, I told Mark what they said.  He was quiet for a very, very long time on the other end of the phone and he finally said “ok.”  I hung up in shock and told the Veterinarian that if they could just keep the cat overnight for observation, I would call in the morning and let them know our decision.  They agreed to try some sort of antibiotic regiment that might also work and then gave me a phone number to call through the night.  I walked out to the car with the empty pet carrier and went straight for the cell phone.  I picked it up and dialed Mark’s number and when he said “hello there,” I started to blurt out at the top of my lungs “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EVER LOVING MIND TO AGREE TO SPEND $2500 ON A CAT??”  And then I proceeded to ask where we were supposed to get that kind of money and that the cat is just staying overnight without the scan and on and on and on…blah, blah, blah.  Finally, after all of my spewing, Mark calmly said “when you left the house, you said everything you love gets taken away, and I didn’t want to put a price on saving something you love.”  He said “what was the right answer in this situation?”

All of a sudden, I realized that Mark didn’t want to spend the money either, but he loved me enough to sacrifice every dime he had to make me happy.   The cat actually recovered without the scan and has some neurological symptoms, but hey, he lives here and we can handle that.  What I learned that day was you can’t put a price on love, but you can put a price on a vet bill!  I miss you tremendously Mark Searle… 

Drop everything, the goldfish is sick!

When Andrea was about 4 years old, she had a goldfish that she named "Berty-bert" after Sesame Street's, Bert.  I have no idea why she loved that goldfish as much as she did, but with a little lisp in her words, she would talk and talk and talk to that little fishy every day.  Life for all of us comes to an end, and that includes goldfish.  One day, Andrea skipped on over to the fish bowl to feed Bert and she said "something is wrong with Berty Bert because he is swimming upside down."  Uh huh, he sure was.  The fish was in trouble and I knew his life was at its end.  I tried carefully to explain that her fish was sick and there was nothing we could do to help him.  She screamed and cried and begged me to take it to the doctor.  Well, of course I didn't and within 30 minutes, Bert went to the giant fish-tank in the sky.  Andrea was inconsolable.  I explained that fish don't live long and we enjoyed him while we could, and it would be ok.  Nope, it didn't work.  Nothing helped.  So, I called Mark Searle to the rescue.  He was at work and I asked if he could please talk to her on the phone.  She cried as he listened to her broken heart over precious Berty Bert.  I heard her say "ok, daddy, thank you."  And she hung up.  She looked at me and said "daddy is coming over right now!"  "What??  Dad is coming here after work you mean?  Right?"  And she said "no, he is coming right now."  The man must have driven 90 mph to get there because within 15 minutes he was pulling in the driveway.  He walked in the door and scooped up his tiny little girl in his big ol' arms and snuggled up with her in the rocking chair.  He held her and rocked her and rubbed her back as she snotted and wept uncontrollably on his dress shirt and tie.  He promised her the moon if she would stop crying.  Eventually she calmed down and wrapped her little arms around his neck and kissed his face.  I must have said 5 times "Are you crazy to leave work for a goldfish? Really, Mark.  She would have been fine."
And he said "I know she would have been fine, but she needed a hug and she is more fine now."
He gave both of his girls a kiss and out the door he went back to work with tear-soaked clothing and a daughter and wife that learned to love him even more that day.
This week, after losing my friend D Carole Stanley, I want to call Mark at work and tell him how sad I am.  I need to tell him that something really sad happened.  I want to tell him that my husband who was my best friend and my girlfriend aren't here anymore and my heart is broken.  I want him to come home and scoop me up and hold me until I feel better and cry on his broad shoulders.  But instead, I stand on the promise of eternal life.  I stand on the love that we shared.  I stand on the lessons learned from a man, a girl, and a goldfish... that it is never, ever, not-ever ridiculous to drop everything and tell someone you love them.  Ok, now I'm crying again...

Sending God some help!

So while I was driving for over 11 hours today to PA for a Dr. Appt, Emilie was zonked out with all the meds she took so she wouldn't get motion sickness, I had lots of time to think.  Memories flooded my mind of vacations and laughing and holding hands and cousins that made me laugh and getting carsick with my dad driving and the many road trips Mark and I took together.  I began to think about how much of Emilie's life has been spent feeling lousy.  She hasn't been able to drive in 3 years, she doesn't read anymore and can barely watch TV for more than 30 minutes at a time.  She doesn't walk anywhere or ride her bike or go on trips.  Since Mark has been gone, I hear Emilie more and more getting up in the night than I ever did.  I think it's because my mind and ears were listening for Mark and hearing his TV most of the night and I missed the agony my daughter was going through night after night, day after day.  Now, it's more clear.  I see it and I don't like it.  So as I was driving today, I thought, well, Emilie Searle, you now have Mark Searle and D Carole Stanley in heaven to get this healing thing done!!  Finally!!!  and then, as if I drove into a giant hurricane force wind, I heard and felt the impact of my thought process.   It was as though I was saying "ok, finally, there is someone in heaven that can do something about Emilie's illness!"  WHAT??  Do I think that God needs reinforcements to accomplish this task?  Do I think that by our dear friend and her dad being in the presence of God, that somehow, someway, God will be nudged to do the "right thing?"  Do I think that God is weak and needed help? 

I guess I did... but if I can allow myself a glimpse into what heaven must be like, without illness, sorrow, jealousy, evil, worry, pain... I can see a different plan.  A plan that God sees and knows.

About a week ago, I sat at my friend Carole's bedside as she was becoming more and more weak.  She would close her eyes and rest and then open them and say "I know where I'm going and I'm not afraid."  Then she would look out through the glass doors of the ICU and point at the nurses and the doctors standing outside her room and shout "Do you know Jesus?  Because you should know Jesus!  Go get my doctor, I need to tell Him I'm praying for Him to know Jesus!"  ha ha ha... I love that about her. 

Carole suffered unlike anyone I have ever known to suffer.  Day after day after day she struggled to breathe and never once did I hear a word of complaint.  And now that I think about it, Emilie never complains either.  Not one of her friends would ever know what she goes through if her mom didn't mention it.  I wonder if people who trust God and His plan, no matter what, are the ones that keep their eyes on Him and not on their circumstance.  I wonder if they realize that God doesn't need help to accomplish His plan and that's how they keep their joy.  It's not in the circumstance, it's God Himself.

Happy Mudder's Day

I am taking time out today to remember a particular Mother’s day.  It was probably 1990 because we were still living in our house in Saratoga.  Andrea was only 6 years old and Michael was 4 and Em was an infant.  Mark and the children were up, dressed and getting ready for their day of surprises for mom.  Andrea announced in a loud voice that she should make me breakfast in bed because someone in school said that is what their family does.  So Mark went along with it and I reluctantly went back in bed with my clothes on and pulled the covers over myself.  I waited and waited and waited while I heard all sorts of clunking around in the kitchen.  Finally, Mark came down the hall grinning from ear to ear and said “she wants me to get in bed too.”  Mark climbed into bed next to me and leaned on one elbow in my direction.  He said “you are in for a treat,” but the tone of his voice was scaring me.  Andrea came down the hallway with a small shallow box that had my surprise breakfast-in-bed.  Michael and Andrea hopped up on the bed with the anticipation of watching me eat every single bite.  I still remember Mark leaning ever so slightly in my direction with a grin on his face.  The tray had a ‘lovely’ display of peanut butter and jelly toasted sandwich and a drink of milk.  It had a note that said Happy Mother’s Day in Andrea’s backwards letters.  I remember Michael’s nose was running because he kept rubbing it with his hands and then touching my face saying “Happy Mudder’s day mom”.  I picked up the dark brown (burnt) toasted sandwich and it weighed about ½ pound.  There was at least an inch of peanut butter on one slice of bread and a half jar of grape jelly on the other side.  The sandwich was a good inch thick with filling oozing out.  I picked it up and said “this looks wonderful.  Thank you.”  Andrea was beaming with pride.  Mark said “go ahead, eat it!” (chuckling and chuckling).  I took one bite and it was really awful.  I’m sorry Andrea if you are reading this, but it was so thick and burnt and gooey.  I tried not to show my facial expression so as I chewed, I looked in Mark’s direction.  Then I had a great idea.  I said “Andrea and Michael, can you go get me a napkin and a knife so I can share with daddy?”  And off they ran to get me those things.  I quickly tore a huge chunk off the sandwich and tried to give it to Mark.  He refused and said “no way, I saw how she made that!” laughing as I responded something about Father’s day coming up.

I kept the small portion of the sandwich on the plate and put more than ¾ of it under the pillow on Mark’s side of the bed.  When the kids came back with the napkin and knife, I regretfully told them that there was just a small piece left to share with daddy.  I cut the small piece in half and shared with Mark.  Then he opened his mouth and said “Punkeroo, do you know what mommy did with the rest of the sandwich?”  And I hit him… he didn’t give her any more information, he just laughed and laughed.  I wonder how many times we say something we don’t really mean because we don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.  Is that still considered a lie?  I read somewhere that the average person lies about 20 times a day!!  Whoa!  They say it’s half truths, compliments they don’t mean, and exaggerations about things.  Interesting… 

One is silver and the other gold...

Make new friends, but keep the old... one is silver and the other gold... Yesterday I spent hours sitting with my precious friend D Carole Stanley at her bedside in the hospital. I sang to her and held her hand and prayed for her. I watched her sleep peacefully, seemingly unaware of my presence in the room, but I was comforted by being there. I talked to the nurses and the aides and the cleaning man about Carole and how we met and how hard she laughs over absolutely anything. I told them about how much she loves Jesus and that when my husband was ill in the hospital, she insisted her son bring her, wheelchair, oxygen and all, to comfort me during my difficult time. Everyone said "what a great friend." And they only heard a smidge of Carole's gift of friendship. 
Then I left and went to visit my parents. I took my mother to see her very best friend who is now in a nursing home with dementia. We were told "Joan" wouldn't recognize any of us. My mother recognized her from a roomful of residents immediately. Joan was in a chair watching a movie and restless. I walked in first and my mom cautiously stood about 30 feet away and watched. I brought lilacs and called her by name. It took several times to call out to her before she realized someone was asking for her.
She stood up from the chair where she was agitated and calmed when she saw me. She smelled the flowers and reached out and touched them. Then she said "you are very kind to come to my house." I said "Joanie, do you remember me?" And she mumbled something about sorting things out and putting them in the closet, so I realized she really was much more confused than we expected. I held her hands and looked in her eyes and said "do you want to see who came with me?" and she nodded her head. I pointed way down the hallway at my mother and my tiny little mom waved at her friend. I wish I had a video camera because what I saw next was possibly the most touching moment I have witnessed in a long time. Joanie looked in my mom's direction, and with complete recognition on her face, she spread her arms wide and the two of these little 85 year old women skipped into each other's arms. Joan put her arms around my mother's neck and rested her head on my mom's shoulder and sobbed. She said "you came, you came to see me, finally, you came." And through tears, my mom held Joan and let her cry. Then my sweet momma put her hands on either side of Joan's face, caressed her cheek and said "I am here now and I will always be here for you." And they took hands these two little 4'10" women and walked arm in arm up and down the hallway together chatting as if nothing ever changed. Bent over with their elderly bodies, I watched friends holding hands, chatting, loving each other and being there until forever comes. Both silver...realizing gold!

When I grow up...

May 6, 2013 
I took my parents to my Aunt's funeral today in Syracuse... my mom sang her own words to the songs (even when there wasn't any music playing) and shouted hello to the funeral guy that she was sure was my brother Bob. Halfway through she looked at me and said "is this over yet?" in her loudest voice. Honestly, it just makes me love her even more! My dad decided he didn't want to go to the cemetery or stay for the luncheon (even though it was his sister that passed away) and so we went to lunch somewhere else and then went to buy pansies for Mother's day... The older they get, the more I think I want to be like them... I often want to sing my own tunes, shout "is it over yet" and recognize people I love in others, skip things like cemetery visits and buy pansies instead... Yup... I'm gonna be more like my mom and dad (who left a $20 tip for a $35 lunch)!
(My father is one of 11 children and he has one sister left.  I wonder how that feels to be left without your parents and siblings?  My mother has lost her brothers and sisters and parents too.  I am learning to treasure those things that I have always just thought would be there, like my mom and dad and family.  Only God is permanent.  All other things leave this earth.  Only God is forever.)
The priest told a story today that was interesting.  A man died after living his entire life idolizing his possessions, career and money.  He was sent to hell and for the rest of eternity, he was separated from all the things that he coveted.  He had no TV, no comfortable chair, no fancy china or nice house, no car or window to look out of.  He was sentenced to eternity in a room all alone without anything or anyone.  Once a year, a $100 bill was lowered from the ceiling and held in front of his face and he was reminded about how much he idolized money before God.  It was quite a visual and I hope I never forget that God is first above all else.

Wake up, wake up sleepy head!

Fast forward to the year 1980.  Mark and I had been living for a few months in the apartment complex in Liverpool, NY.  We knew a couple people in our building by this time, but not really "friendly" with any of them.  Once in awhile, they would be using the washing machine or the dryer and we would chat for a few minutes.  Our apartment was one of six in the building.  We were on the top floor of the brick building.  One night, my fabulous friend Jean came up from Oswego and Jean and I went out to Tom's Clam Cove nearby and had incredible dinner and a couple whiskey sours.  I probably can count on one hand the number of drinks I have had in the past 20 years, but back when I was a younger version of myself, a good strawberry daiquiri or a whiskey sour was so good!

It was dark and after 10:00 pm when Jean drove me back to the apartment before she headed home.  We visited in the car for a few minutes before I started to get out, and then realized that I didn't have my keys to the apartment with me.  Jean shut off her car and came in with me to be sure I got in the door safely.  The first thing we did was walk in the secure doorway of the building and push the buzzer for our apartment.  Mark's car was outside so we knew he was home, but he didn't answer the buzzer right away.  We pressed it again.  And again.  And again.  We were laughing quite hard at this point because we somehow thought this was very funny.

Finally, this girl Debbie in the apartment below ours opened her door.  Her hair was disheveled and she had slippers and a bathrobe on.  She peeked out the doorway and said "do you need help?"  And Jean and I both said "yes" at the same time.  I asked if I could use her phone because unbeknownst to us at the time, there would be such a thing as cell phones one day.  Debbie allowed us to come into her apartment and I dialed our number.  The phone was right next to the bed in our apartment and there was also a phone in the kitchen.  As we stood in Debbie's kitchen, we could hear our phone ringing above us.  I thought that it was very loud and wondered what else Debbie could hear from her living quarters! After calling our apartment 5 times in a row and having nobody answer, we decided to ring the doorbell buzzer AND call him on the phone at the same time.  So Jean pushed the buzzer, Debbie held the phone and waited for an answer, and I went upstairs to the apartment door and knocked and shouted Mark's name.  There was no response.  We could hear Mark snoring from Debbie's bedroom and I again wondered about the soundproofing in that poor girl's space.

In my whiskey sour stupor, I had a brilliant idea.  I wondered if I could stand on Debbie's bed (this person I barely know) and hit her ceiling with a broom handle so it would sound like knocking on the door of the bedroom upstairs.
Debbie actually thought that was an ok idea, so she handed me a broom.  Debbie held the phone and it rang and rang, Jean pushed the buzzer and I hit the ceiling again and again and again with the broom handle, all while shouting Mark's name.  Debbie asked me to stop when the plaster from the ceiling came off in big chunks and landed on her bed (that she was obviously using when we woke her up!)

Finally, Mark picked up the phone and groggily said "hello."  Debbie said, "your wife is locked out, please unlock the door."  And you could hear Mark get up, walk across the floor and the deadbolt being released.  I ran upstairs to be sure he didn't close the door and lock me out again.  The door to the apartment was left wide open, he was nowhere to be seen, but he was already snoring and back in bed.
Jean and I laughed about that for years and years.  Mark didn't remember any of it.  Debbie never really spoke to me again!  ha ha ha!

Home Sweet Home

After being married for just a couple of months, we went to go look at a house in Liverpool.  Mark had already decided that he disliked the creepy landlord and that we were going to just buy a house instead.  I was making a very, very nice salary and we could easily afford a house between our two incomes.  Of course, my plan was to be a stay-at-home mom.  Mark’s plan was to just have me and my job and my income for the rest of forever without any children.  The house we looked at was an adorable ranch that was meticulously maintained by an older couple moving to Florida.  It was so perfect that we asked my dad to come and look at it with us a second time to see if it would be a good investment.  My father thought it was very well built (my dad built houses when I was a kid so he knew his stuff).  He was impressed by the layout and the ‘bones’ of the house.  My dad also mumbled something under his breath about Mark making minimum wage and how was he going to afford a house that was so expensive.  I found out then that my parents paid something like $6500 for their house so this was really pricey to my father.  So, just like all the other times we didn’t listen to what my dad said, Mark and I decided to make an offer on the house without Mark having a well-paying job or a real future.  I think the house was something like $40,000 and we called the realtor and made an offer.  I remember one thing about the house more than anything else and that was the ceramic statue of a boy holding a lantern in the front yard by the walkway.  I remember asking the homeowners if we bought the house could we have the boy with the lantern and they said “no.”  And not in a nice way either!  The day after we signed and the homeowner accepted our offer, Mark got fired from his job at Bresee Chevrolet.  I don’t quite remember why he got fired but I think it had something to do with him running around for parts for them and when he came back, they had told him the wrong thing so he had to go back out and get a different part in a hurry because it was the end of the day.  Mark used his colorful language and told off the manager of the car place.  They asked Mark to take a little drive in his own car away from his job!  So, when he came to pick me up from work that night, we sat in the little red Chevy Chevette very quietly as we realized we needed to call the realtor and rescind our offer.  That’s exactly what we did.  We made a choice to wait to buy a house until our 20 year old selves could figure out what we would do next.  I wanted to tell the real estate lady that the reason we backed out was because we really wanted the boy with the lantern statue to stay with the house.  There are so many times that I wish I listened to my dad about so many things.  I think it’s kinda like God.  We hear what He has to say, contemplate, and then do our own thing.