Seeking your opinion

George, Kansas State University, Musings, Pets, , , , , , , , ,

My friend Ellen assures me that pets feel the emotion of their owners and react.

Okay, I accept that about dogs.   Our Pepper would run whenever she thought George and I were about to argue because she could feel the tension between us.  Many a fight ended before it started because we laughed when she took off down the hall.    Our Dreamer would get on my lap and quiver when I cried.  She never did any other time.

But cats?  Ellen assures me they do and I might believe her now.  

We have two incredibly spoiled tuxedo cats (I may have mentioned them before).   Maggie hasn’t slept with us for years and Scooter only bothered George at night.   But during the last weeks of George’s latest and last illness,  both cats slept with me.  It wasn’t a matter of there being more space on the bed.  They cuddled with me.  Scooter used my legs as a pillow and Maggie slept against my side.   This lasted for two weeks after George died when they quit.  

So what do you think?   Did the cats pick up on my sadness and worry?  Were they comforting me?    I think so.  I believe they were using their warm little bodies to keep me warm, to keep me company.   It helped.

And here’s a picture of Kansas State’s Rodney McGrudder

Illogic is me

Musings, Stuff, , , , ,

I’m working on financials, going through baskets full of papers and letters and statements, separating them and attempting to bring order.  Unfortunately, at the moment the dining room table is covered with stacks that spill over into other stacks.  Someday, I’m going to go through all those piles again–someday.

Which brings up the subject of how often I believe the illogical.   Case in point:   I don’t trust banks.   Although I consider myself an intelligent woman, usually, I have a deep distrust of financial institutions.   I’d rather hide our money under the mattress than invest it.   If I lived in a house with a yard, I’d probably dig a hole and bury a box filled with bills.  However, I don’t believe the manager of our apartment complex would appreciate my excavating in the tiny strip of grass between the apartment and the parking lot.

I have no idea why I feel this way.   I’ve read about the Depression but I also know bills were passed to assure this wouldn’t happen again.  Sadly, I also know these bills have been weakened down in the last few years–but even before the crash of Wall Street, I didn’t like financial institutions.   When the junk bond failures hit or Wall Street ruined the economy, I’d say to George, “See, I told you.  You can’t trust banks.”   Perhaps it was the movie It’s a Wonderful Life which I saw when I was very young.  Whatever the reason, I’ve been thinking about buying a shovel recently.

Another illogical belief:  I don’t believe airplanes can really fly.  To me, there is no explanation for how a metal tube can throw itself through the sky without falling to the earth.   

But my lack of  logic is refuted by people who know stuff, who know much more than I.   Because of that, I  know it is safer to keep money in a bank than under my bed so I do that.   I know airplanes can fly because I’ve made numerous trips, clenching my fists and biting my lip but I do.   When faced with the thought of driving for three days of flying to my destination in a few hours, I choose the plane because  it’s faster.  I also read the statistics that it’s safer.  

Do you share these illogical beliefs or do you have others?   Please share–it makes me feel so much better to know I’m not the only one.

And here’s a picture of the UofL Cardinal basketball team    

What to say and what not to say: A guide for funeral etiquette

Holidays

Those of you who have kept up in my blog know that my husband George was the joy of my life, the best person I’ve ever known.  He was funny and kind and greatly loved.  He died on March 2 due to complications of surgery on January 31.   All my life, I’ve heard people say, “I don’t know what to say, what to do when someone dies.”   Here are my thoughts from what I’ve experienced.

First, what helps:  just be there in whatever way you can.   You don’t have to say a word other than, “I love you.  I loved George.”    That’s enough.   If you can help in anyway, find out and do it.   With George in the hospital so long, I asked church friends to sit with him so I could rest and they took from 10 AM to 1 PM so I didn’t have to worry he was alone.

George’s family was wonderful.  His sister, Diane Perrine Coon, was here for fifteen days and stayed with George for hours.  She kept me interested in news and politics which we both enjoy.   Her daughter Alison was here for four days, then returned for the funeral.  She’s a marvel at cleaning and sorting and putting stuff away.  That was greatly appreciated.   Diane, Alison and I watched endless reruns of The Big Bang Theory which lifted my spirits.   Wayne Barnet, George’s best friend  from church camp, was here for nearly two weeks.  When George could still communicated, he asked Wayne to come.  He and LaDonna came.  We all traded sitting with George.  Wayne took the early shift and other times while  Diane sat with him in the late afternoon.  I visited a little in the morning, more in the afternoon, and Alison drove me over in the evening.   Then George’s brother Bill–who doesn’t like to travel–brought the gift of his presence for the funeral.   

What to say in a time like this?  Words are not necessary.  See what needs to be done and volunteer to do it.    Actions tell of your love and concern.

If you can’t do go to the funeral or sit with someone in the hospital, send a card.  They mean a great deal.  If you can go to the visitation, make an effort.   During the 6:00-8:00 visitation at the funeral home, the number of friends–from our church in Austin, from the church George served in Burnet, from my writers’ group–who came filled my heart with appreciation.  I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and caring.  At nearly eight o’clock, I looked up to see my long-time friend Sharon Hammond enter the funeral home.  She’d driven all the way from Houston.  I can’t tell you how much that meant.   Ellen Watkins, my writer friend from Houston, came for the funeral and returned to spend the weekend with me,  Tracy Wolff, another writer friend, helped me sort through George’s clothing on Thursday.

And Facebook and email help.   I posted daily on Facebook so people would know what was happening with George and people posted:  former students, friends I hadn’t seen in a long time,  Even an, “I love you” meant a great deal.  Just seeing they’d posted had great meaning.

For me–and I say this only for myself because others might not feel this way–I preferred a card, note on Facebook, or an email to a phone call.  My life had narrowed to two things:  be with George and go home to relax with the kitties.   Talking on the phone exhausted me.   An “I’m praying” call was appreciated but I truly couldn’t handle reporting in length on George’s health at that time.

Don’t forget the family.   Because I’m not an organized person, I’ve often sent a card weeks or months after a death.  Sometimes I even do that on purpose.  People tell me those are appreciated.  The mother of a high school student who died said she knew I hadn’t forgotten her son and that meant a great deal to her.

What doesn’t help:

Don’t try to explain God’s plan.  George and I had a wonderful life together.  After nearly 47 years of marriage, I’d like you to celebrate his life and mourn his death, but don’t attempt to explain why this happened.   I know that as sick as he was, he’s in a better place.  I also know I’d rather have George sitting next to me and  watching basketball.  To me, that’s the best place.

Many years ago, a friend had both parents died within an hour in the same hospital.  A friend of her parents said, “If you had more faith, they wouldn’t have died.”   This statement haunted her for years.   Another friend lost her infant son to leukemia.  Her family told her God was punishing her for conceiving the child out of wedlock.  Don’t try to explain.  Just love and care and support.

I’ve heard people say to parents when their child died, “God wanted another angel for His garden.”   This could only make a parent think God is selfish to have taken their beloved child.   Platitudes, no matter how pretty they sound, are often harmful when people are grieving.

On television, someone in a hospital room tells the wife of the dying man, “You have to take care of yourself or you can’t take care of him.”   Not comforting.  Not helpful.  When the person I love more than anyone in the world is dying, I have to be with him as much as possible.  If I’m home, I’m thinking of him and want to be with him.    Because I’m realistic about my health, I did set up schedules and rested at home–but this is a platitude spoken by people who don’t know what it’s like to watch the light of your life burn lower and lower.  You want to–you have to–be there.

Do not lecture on what you think the grieving should do, in your opinion.  I was asked, “Are you eating and taking your medication?”  That was okay because in the midst of grieving, those can be forgotten.   But if you believe I should go to a movie to relieve stress and I say, “No”, don’t push.   I’m balancing my life and the few hours I had left with  my husband in the best way I can.   I don’t need a lecture about my anger or bad feelings or anything else.  In the first place, I wasn’t angry or harboring negative feelings.  I was in deep denial which protected me.  My only feelings were concern for George.  Don’t read into the grief of others what you’ve read or heard about suffering.  I wanted to shout, “Leave me alone.  I’m an adult.  I know how I have to handle this.” Unfortunately, I felt the need to be polite and didn’t.

Truly, you do know what to say.  You say what you feel not what you think you’re supposed to say.  You speak from your heart and soul.  You say,  “I love you” and act in love.

 

Please continue to pray

George, Musings, ,

On January 31, George had surgery.  Afterward, he could not breathe.  He had pneumonia.   After a week of treatment, he was released to a skilled nursing center which didn’t take care of him.  When he returned to the hospital six days later, he was admitted into ICU on life support, very sick.

People say to me, “He’s the finest man I know.”  He is.  Please keep prayers and loving  thoughts headed toward Texas.

Me and Fiorello La Guardia

Family, George, Musings, Reading, , , , , , , ,

When George is sick, he likes me to read the funnies to him.  In Austin, we have two pages devoted to the funnies which is better, in terms of reading them to another person, than Houston which had FOUR pages.  I don’t know WHY he likes me to read them.  Sometimes it’s because he’s really sick and doesn’t have the strength to hold the paper.  Other times, the surgeon has told him to lie flat so the incision will heal.   However, I think the real reason is because it amuses him.  I’m all for cheering him up when he’s not well.

What makes him laugh–silently because he doesn’t dare to chortle if he wants me to continue–are the voices I use.  So he can tell who’s speaking without being able to see the pictures, I use a high voice for Blondie and a gravelly tone for Dagwood.   I tried a hip-hop speech pattern for one guy.  I don’t do it well.  I’m really a failure on accents.   In Get Fuzzy, before Satchel speaks, I say, “Woof”, so George knows a dog is commenting.  

 I don’t know why I’m telling you all this but George felt this was worth blogging about so, to make him feel better, here it is.  Also, I’m available to read to you–for a small charge.

Why do I mention Fiorello, the “little flower”, La Guardia, mayor of New York City from 1934-1945?   In 1945, the newspaper delivery drivers went on strike so no one could get the paper.   On the first Sunday of the strike, when the mayor was preparing to do a show, he decided it would be nice to read Dick Tracy to the kids.  Every Sunday from then on, he read the comics to children on the radio and made them happy.

Okay, I don’t read to a city full of children who missed their favorite cartoon characters.  No, I read to George which cheers him up.  That’s a pretty good reason.,

Anyone else have a favorite Fiorello La Guardia story you’d like to share?

Craft Tuesday: Hooks, part 2

Holidays, , , , , ,

First, let’s do a little review from January’s blog:  what is a hook in writing?  I bet you know this so I’m going to pause while you think of an answer. . . 

At the beginning of a novel or a chapter, a hook is like a fishing lure, it pulls you in, it makes you want to read more.    It’s the first few words or sentences that pull the reader into the story and makes you buy THAT book, not another.  Has anyone opened a book, read the first line and put back?  Why?   I’d guess it’s because the beginning doesn’t hook you, doesn’t promise you a good story or the kind of story you like.

But you knew this all of this.  Let’s look at two opening hooks that work well. 

SUSAN ELIZABETH PHILLIPS It Had to Be You  “Phoebe Somerville outraged everyone by bringing a French poodle and a Hungarian lover to her father’s funeral.”

ANN GEORGE Murder Boogies with Elvis  “I was lying on my stomach under the kitchen sink, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich and listening to Vivaldi’s ‘Spring’ when icy cold hands grasped my ankles.”

These are great for two reasons.  First, they make us wonder:  Why would this woman bring a French poodle and her Hungarian lover to her father’s funeral?   Who grabbed this woman’s ankles?   We want to read on because we want to know WHY? Second, they work well for the genre.  I love Susan Elizabeth Phillips women’s fiction and Ann George’s humorous mysteries.  These opening lines promise that these are exactly the kind of books I love.

Don’t you hate it when authors use their own books as examples?  I do, too, but I’m going to anyway.  And I do have a good reason.   This is the first line of my first Love Inspired, The Path to Love.  “Francie Calhoun learned to pick pockets when she was five, mark cards at eight and how to hotwire a car years before she could get an driver’s license.”  Does this opening make you wonder about this heroine?   Do you wonder more because this sentence is the beginning of an inspirational novel?  Often an opening that doesn’t promise what other books in the genre works well to catch the readers’ attention. 

The second reason is because my original idea for a book usually comes as an opening line.  My first idea for the beginning The Path to Love was, “Francie Calhoun met Jesus and the devil on the same afternoon.”  I love that line-but as I wrote the story, it no longer fit.  I had to cut it, completely.  That hurt.  But even if you have the best opening hook that has ever been published, if it doesn’t work with the novel, get rid of it.

Next month:  hooks between chapters.  An opening hook involves the reader in the story.  Internal links keep the reader going.   How do you do that?

 

My husband is a saint: Part 1

Musings, , , ,

My husband is truly one of the best people I know.   One of the reasons I say that is because he puts up with me and has for nearly forty-seven years.   I am not the easiest person to live with and yet he seems to enjoy it.

Another is that, without thinking about it or a questioning, he acts with great kindness.

When we were living in Houston, a storm started before we left for work.  In Texas, the hardest rain is like one HUGE drop of water which drenches everything and everyone.  I looked outside to see a woman standing under the roof of our front porch to keep dry.  When I told George, he said, “Why don’t you give her an umbrella.”    I’d never have thought of that.  I opened the door but before I could hand  her the umbrella–one of many we’d collected so it was no hardship– she started to rush off the porch saying, “I’m sorry.”    I stopped her and handed the umbrella to  her,  She was stunned.   Two days later, I found it folded against the front door.

Acts of kindness bless the doer more than the receiver.    When I think of one, I attempt to carry through but George acts kindly all the time.  He’s made me a better person. 

Know your limitations! Better yet, hire someone

Celebrating, Musings, Stuff, , , , ,

My BFF—although when we met years ago in the church nursery, we didn’t call ourselves this—recently celebrated an important wedding anniversary. Her children planned a surprise for Betty and Chuck. All their friends were asked to make a quilt square and one of the wives would stitch them together. How much fun, I thought. How easy and cheap.

Ha! I spent nearly seventy dollars on creating that 10” X 10” piece of cotton, expended hours coming up with the design and putting the square together, and it ended up looking as if our cats found a box of crayons and some glue and made a mess.

For that reason and to save you the heartbreak, let me give you some tips if you are ever asked to do this.

1) PLAN I ended up with three different ideas and purchased the supplies for each. That’s what cost so much and took up so much time.

2) KEEP IT SIMPLE My final idea was a montage of events and groups she and I had shared, an homage to the past, nostalgic and heartwarming. However, I had too much detail. If I’d stuck with only a few ideas, there would not have been the big black smear or the messy iron-ons.

3) KNOW YOUR LIMITATIONS I’m a writer not an artist. I probably should have written a reflection on all we did together and my memories of my friend and her husband and glued it on the square. I could have printed it off on colored paper. The whole project would have been cheaper and prettier and without the black smear.

4) And this is the one I really recommend: Hire someone to do this for you.

Fortunately, Betty loved the square. At least she said she did. That makes up for the time and money and makes me happy.  (PS, that is NOT Betty and Chuck’s  quilt but that is our cat.  I’m donating this quilt–made by my gandmother nearly a century ago–to Brenda Hiatt’s auction for a cure for diabetes.)