IMG_3510

The Jesus Pilot Tour

“Today is the day my mother is going to die.”

The keys of Harper’s Macbook clicked softly under long, tanned fingers. She looked at her journal entry but finding no other words, closed the laptop silently. She drained the last sip of coffee, slipped into her black leather jacket and grabbed the keys to her Mercedes from the glass table next to the door.

Jackie Becker hated growing old. Her resistance didn’t help; the heart attack she survived ten years earlier hadn’t been a victory but a precursor of battles yet to come. Jackie followed doctor’s orders to the letter taking medications by the truckload and refilling them relentlessly. It became a cycle of doctor visits, prescriptions and more tests. She would half heartedly joke, “I studied for weeks. I just don’t know how I failed a bone density test.”

She never got better. She only had days of not-so-much-pain.

“I don’t know why I’m sleeping so much” she gasped into the phone.

“Mom you’re not well. You need to sleep. It helps.” Harper said.

By the time she was admitted to the hospital, pneumonia was added to the long list of ills: congestive heart failure, three aneurisms, rheumatoid arthritis, osteoporosis, emphysema and a mass on her lung which could not be properly diagnosed because she was too sick to undergo a lung biopsy. Even on a 5’2” frame 99 pounds was skeletal.

Harper found it ironic, that while her mother’s health diminished, her vanity remained intact.
“I have the same size hips as I did in high school” she told Harper from her hospital bed.
“Yes Mom,” said Harper. “but you’re wearing a diaper in a hospital bed. Not the same somehow is it?”

Jackie gave her what her family called “the hairy eye” but said nothing.

Featured Image -- 846

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

thekellygeorge:

One of my Beatle favorites. Happy to say my 13 year old daughter loves it too. A moving song.

Originally posted on ronovanwrites:

People can remember events in their lives or recall specific details of life associated with an event even decades later. The odd thing is, they don’t even know the relevance of what that detail is.

Just imagine all the beautiful sounding songs you’ve ever heard and then think of some of the lyrics to them. You can’t right of the top of your head probably. It’s one of those “If you hadn’t asked me I could’ve named a dozen of them” kind of things.

One song that is incredibly simple, sweet, and beautiful has said to be one of the top 10 most covered songs ever. Some cover it because it’s beautiful. Some, though, realize there is a message there.

Blackbird written by Paul McCartney was recorded in 1968 and appeared on the Beatles ‘White Album’. Do you know the message? It’s 1968, an Englishman looks at America and sees…

View original 406 more words

IMG_4464

5 Things. 1 Pig. 4th of July.

Top 5 things Pickles the Pig likes to do on the 4th of July:

5. Go to the beach: Pickles always enjoys the smell of the briny air and feel of the wind tickling her widdle ears.

4. Shop! Who doesn’t love a sale? Pickles can’t wait to check out great deals on this season’s hottest Ray Bans.
3. Eat. Everyone loves a good bbq, and this piggie begins with a quick nosh on her cage. It’s like an appetizer. Sort of…
2. Rock the red, white and blue! Like most guinea pigs today, Pickles loves to show her patriotism.
1. Spend time with people you love – what makes any holiday special? (besides food, drink and a date with David Beckham…) Family and friends!

Pickles wishes everyone a safe and very Happy Fourth of July 2014!

*Pickles was not harmed, or forced to wear anything during the making of this blog post.
*Glasses provided by Nana
*Suggested poses for Pickles by “Pigs Pose Pigs Ltd.”

7th Grade
Wessex Boys School

Writing 101 – Day 14 – To Whom It May Concern…

20 June

Dear Ethelred:

It really is becoming a nuisance my son.

Your father and I are exhausted with having to tell you what to do each day.  You’re a big boy now.  We shouldn’t have to say “Ethelred – it’s time.”  You should know to look at the clock for yourself.  We have the same routine every morning:  wake up, wash your face, get dressed, pack your school bag, eat a good breakfast, brush your teeth and get in the mini van.  Your brother Edward could do this when he was your age, why can’t you?  You are going to be very successful one day and it is important to be on time.  Do you want the children at school to make fun of you?  Of course you don’t – we don’t want that for you either but we are at our wits end.  We have tried to counsel you and now you must learn on your own.

Please Ethelred, be ready. I implore you.

Your loving mother,

Elfthryth

 

Writing 101 – Day Eleven – Size Matters

I lived in a home of grandeur

Where halcyon days of cloud

Swirled

like a vortex of smoke

While the rest of the world

Fell about me dismembered and broke

Safe in a gilded palace; crowned by  Africa’s best

In a stone tower tall

Surrounded by war

Was I grounded in amber and blessed

Rage on wild boars!  Rage on!

Your horrors do not reach me

here

In my manor familiar

Mind is ever the builder

Thus I thrived free of anger and fear

*Mind is ever the builder – quoted from Edgar Cayce

and to whom I owe much of my sanity (ahem – yes I know its debatable).

thanksgiv-day

Writing 101 – Day Ten – Happy …Thank You For Not Killing Us.

I don’t have a favorite childhood meal.  My mother wasn’t that kind of mom.

Second helpings in our family were considered a punishment.  So were first helpings.  My mother’s idea of home baked goods was the Little Debbie sale at the dollar store.  For my third grade school birthday party she bought one box of Suzy Q’s, and one box of Hostess Crumb Cakes and war broke out among my classmates.  It was a cold war because she forgot to bring juice, and we were silent as we chewed ourselves into gummy oblivion.  Some of my fondest celebration memories are the ones where my mother didn’t accidentally kill us all.

Thanksgiving was my mother’s holiday.  She inherited it when my grandmother retired.  The meals of Thanksgivings past began with my mother not knowing that the turkey cavity needed to be cleaned and emptied before cooking.  What we found inside Tom Turkey was comparable to that of Tutankhamun’s treasure.  Only without the gold. The next year Nan told my mother to “scrub the potatoes really well” before putting them in the oven.  And scrub them she did.  With plenty of warm water and soap.  The Thanksgiving I was seven my mother let me eat jarred pickle spears.  Only pickle spears. I knocked them back with Shirley Temples.  I threw up until Christmas.  When we didn’t have the ingredients for a Shirley Temple I got Coca Cola with Champagne.  I was ten.  I threw up that year too.  The following year Mom drank Manhattans while cooking and showed us how to “pitch” the potatoes into the oven.  Some of them even made it in.

Now this may sound like child abuse or gross negligence and it was.  In the nicest possible way. Those were the days before we became politically correct as a nation:  the only water in the house was from the tap.  No one drank it.  A kid could have a real drink.  Everyone smoked everywhere.  People ate carbs and bologna.  With mayonnaise. Kids brought olive loaf sandwiches to school.  Salami and its fatty ilk hadn’t been outlawed yet. The only fruit we had was Hawaiian Punch which boasted real, fruit flavors.

There was a year long phase where Mom dropped everything.  Only a select few items actually made it to the table.  It was the year of the oil embargo, gas shortages and our own mini suburban famine.  Times were tough. There was steak on the floor, eggs that the cat had to eat, and pork chops that we watched go into the garbage. My sister ate potato chips and ketchup and I continued to avoid pickle spears while consoling myself with dollar store treats of unrecognizable brand names.

Birthdays were a special celebration.  My sister and I have a few years in between us but our birthdays are a week apart.  I don’t think of my own birthday without thinking of my sister, but homemade birthday cakes from Mom?  Just say no!  The last time my mother “made” a birthday cake for us it came under the guise of a low fat, low carb, sugar free “treat.”  Sound good to you?  Didn’t think so.  We asked Mom point blank if she was trying to kill us.  She laughed nervously and said no.  Strangely, she has never baked us anything again.  Coincidence?  Hmmm….

My memories of celebrations and homemade goods might be very different from other people’s.  Sure I didn’t have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off, but I had fun.  The best celebrations now are laughing about the fun we had back then.

Especially since we banned Mom from the kitchen.  You know.  Just in case.