writing

Feeling like an evil hero.

~ yellowlamplight ~ 1 Comment

My little sister died.

I never thought that would be a truth in my life. That I would be here without her. I knew she had cancer, but I believed every single person who told me she was going to beat it. My family, her doctor, my husband. Especially my husband. He’s my favorite person in the world and his eyes crinkle at the corners. How could I not believe him? And, it was with that confidence that I advised her throughout her cancer journey. So many phone calls and texts and visits. Yesterday, on her birthday, I wanted to get back to what we said to each other last year on that same day. So, I scrolled through our texts. It took me two hours to get back to last year.

“Should I pay this bill or buy myself some new sheets? They are my favorite color.” “Buy the sheets!” I would reply. “I have this weird pain in my side. Should I call my doctor or give it until morning?” she would ask. “Do you have a fever? Did they mention weird side pain as a possible side effect? What is your gut telling you? If it’s not setting off alarm bells wait until morning. That is what I would do. We don’t want your doctor to hate you. It’s 3 a.m.” I would answer. “Do you think it’s ok if I skip Christmas this year? I promise I’ll do it big next year.” “Of course it’s ok! You can do whatever you need to do to get through this! There’s no right or wrong way to survive. By the way, I sent the sheets.” And so it went for that year and the one before it. My little sister asking me for advice and me giving it. Giving it because I loved her and I didn’t want her to have to decide anything. I could not take the cancer, but I could handle the decisions. Make her non-responsible for any wrong choice. The first sheets were awful and she hated them, but it was ok because I sent them. She hated the tea kettle too and the over night bag. I fixed it all. More than once she said to me, “I don’t know how I could get through this without you.” And I answered, arrogantly, “You don’t have to.”

The Bible says pride goes before a fall. My God is that true.

When the day came that she called me and said she was scared to go into the hospital I handled it with my much called-upon confidence. “Don’t be scared,” I told her. “It’s really not that bad. They bring your food to you and you can push a button and someone will be right there. And they give you warm blankets when you feel crappy. Staying in the hospital will be the least awful part of this whole awful experience. It’s kind of like having parents again. I’ve done it lots of times. It will be fine.” And, she believed me.

Even worse? I believed me. I actually let my guard down. I got her checked in. I went down and bought her a stuffed Eeyore because that is what big sisters do for little sisters. I went back to her room the three extra times for hugs that she requested and I left her there. Alone. Worse? I relaxed a little. There were trained professionals on watch. I could afford to nap on the way back to Texas. I could play my music while I slept. I could not take my phone in the bathroom with me in case she called. I started to really believe my crinkly-eyed husband.

And then, my phone rang. I had just talked to her that morning, so I expected a question or a funny story. “I turned my tv up and can’t turn it down and it’s on Judge Judy.” “Someone just asked me if being bald is fun?” “Can we go to Salem next year for Halloween?” “Gross, good grief, and yes!!! Let’s!” is how I would have responded.

Instead, it was a nurse telling me my little sister, who believed me when I said being in the hospital was going to be ok, had fallen. Fallen and developed a brain bleed and a neurosurgeon would be calling. After that, it was a rushed trip back from Texas and three long days in the hospital. It was Eeyore coming home with me and a funeral where people took home Halloween decorations and pie. And now? Now it is just life without her. Which is infinitely less interesting and fun. And, forever, heart breaking.

And, it’s me. The resident evil hero that gave bad advice. The worst advice. I should have told her to never trust anyone in a hospital. To keep her wits about her at all times. To call me every five minutes to keep me apprised of what was happening. Mostly, I shouldn’t have left her. Ever. I should have just climbed in her bed and lived the entire experience with her. She could have called me from the next pillow. “You’re snoring and I really need my rest for tomorrow.” “Do you think I could have the better pillow tomorrow night and the first shower?” “You’re drooling on Eeyore and he was supposed to be mine.” We would have worked it out. We’re sisters. Were sisters. How is this real?

So, yeah, I’m having a hard time. A few things are keeping my head above water. First, I’m out of the advice business. At least important advice. I think I would still tell you if your outfit is ugly, but maybe not. Maybe I’d let you rock those stripes and plaid. I sleep with a stuffed Eeyore and might from now on. My sweet husband understands and so should you. And, yesterday, when I searched through those text messages to see what I said to my sister last year on her birthday I didn’t find any. Instead, I found a couple of photos of Halloween decorations and fish planks. That was because she was here. We spent her last birthday together. I spoiled her rotten. Bought her everything she asked for, took her to her favorite place for lunch and made sure she knew her big sister was on watch. That I could steal her birthday from cancer and give it back to her like it had always been. Her and me having fun.

Thank God for that.

This country.

~ yellowlamplight ~ 3 Comments

I had a few more blogs I wanted to write about our road trip. Some food stops we made. A quirky place called Carhenge–definitely hope you look that one up. I really wanted to write an entire blog about where we ended our trip. My husband’s brother and his wife’s. They were our people when our kids were young. We got together for all the fun holidays and spent minutes and hours and days loving each other’s kids. Ate countless dinners together and melded in a way that can’t be undone. Walking into their house after that long trip was like coming home and shedding years all at the same time. They were just another piece of that crazy, road trip week that was perfect. I wanted to do all of that, but my youngest grandson got sick and I spent a week rocking that little man and wiping his nose and taking some weight off his parent’s shoulders. So, I didn’t get my last few blogs written and I thought about trying to squeeze them all in today, but I wasn’t feeling it. And, it was very important me to get this last road trip blog done before the election tomorrow. So, here’s the thing. We need tomorrow to work. To do its American thing. No subterfuge. No violence. No funny business. Just American citizens standing in line to vote. Minutes. Hours. Days. Whatever it takes, because it’s that important. It’s that important because America is kinda a big deal. I’m not saying she’s perfect. Of course she’s not. Neither are you. Neither am I. None of us are. But, as long as there is freedom there is the opportunity to get up every morning and try again. To fix what’s wrong. To make things better. And, America is not the guys in suits or the women either. The ones on TV. The ones so sure they know better than everyone. The ones that are trying to turn us against each other. You know they are. ( Did you read any of the comments under your family’s posts on Facebook the last couple of weeks? Or years?) No, America is Annette in Kansas and the quiet motel clerk in Wisconsin and all of the people painting their barns red in Iowa. It’s the crowds at Wall Drug laughing with their family and drinking drinks and making memories. It’s the guy who sold you carpet last week and the waitress serving you enchiladas tonight. It’s your Uncle Paul and the lady giving piano lessons at the church. Tomorrow, take a minute to look at the people around you. Really look at them. See if you can see America. The resolve that made those men hang off the cliff so we could take our families to Mount Rushmore. The dedication to work a not fun job with a cheerful heart and kindness. The courage to run into a scary moment instead of away from it. That is America. I’ve mentioned before that I spent many years living in a place where hurricanes happen way too often. Because of that, I learned that the folks who offer to row in and save you when your house is flooding and you’re on your roof are your countrymen. The people who show up with food and gift cards and a shovel when you need it most. So, when you pull that curtain tomorrow, vote your conscience but don’t drink the kool-aid. Don’t let TV people change how you feel about your fellow Americans. I might be in line with you. Seriously. I didn’t early vote. I was busy with that sweet baby boy that I love with my whole heart. I want him to grow up and be a part of this great experiment. I want that young girl from Ukraine to come back in a few years for another summer job. And, in four years, I want to be standing in line to vote. Minutes, hours, days. Whatever it takes. Maybe, by that time, we will have all wised up to the TV people and they, with an appropriate air of meekness, will be rowing their boats to make things better and not just stay in power. After all, in America, every morning is another opportunity to try again.

Two Rivers, Wisconsin

~ yellowlamplight ~ 2 Comments

When I am an old lady (way sooner that I’m comfortable with!) and I think back on Wisconsin I will remember flowers and lighthouses and nice people. A different flavor of nice, but nice all the same. I say that because they are not walking towards you friendly in Wisconsin. They are more two steps back and then a smile kind of nice. I noticed this, first, with the young man who checked us into our room. Our motel was the kind of place where your room door opens onto the parking lot and a decorator was not consulted about anything. There’s a microwave that looks like somebody might have used it at college first. The beds are the old-fashioned kind you better check under for puppies and socks before you leave–we found both. The shower squeaks and bangs before it starts and none of that matters because once you cross the parking lot and a small street you are on the shores of Lake Michigan. That is a sight you won’t soon forget. I couldn’t get over folks talking about going down to the beach of a lake. But it’s there. Anyway, I digress. Back to the young man who checked us in. It was pouring rain when we arrived and tumbled into his lobby dripping and exhausted. Darkness had long since settled and it was that time of night when hotel lobby folks are in the back room watching tv or doing their homework. This one wasn’t. He was clicking clacking on a computer. Took way longer than i expected to look up and then didn’t smile. He kinda looked like a chubby version of that famous character Spicoli from Fast Times.(If you don’t get that reference you won’t be old as fast as me!) Looked like him but with none of the natural bounce of Spicoli. Nope. This kid found nothing amusing about two wet Texans in his lobby. Polite, but not amused. Or friendly. That never stops me. I told him we were first time visitors to Wisconsin and asked him what we should do in the area. What he recommended. He stared at me for a minute and then lumbered over to the wooden display rack and gathered up several flyers. He shoved them into my hands, gave my husband our room key and informed us it was too late to get any food close. Ten minutes later, when I was back to buy some microwave popcorn and a candy bar from his little store, the computer was once again click-clacking. I tried to start a conversation again to no avail. Back to my room in the rain to eat my nutritious meal and listen to the shower screech. Fished the puppy out from under the bed and was already asleep when my husband got out of the shower and informed me there was only one towel. “One of us is going to have to go to the office and get more.” he informed me. Not gonna be me I thought and then fell asleep again– exhausted I’ve been in the car for days kind of sleep. Didn’t wake up until I smelled coffee the next morning. My husband had already been down to the office where, he informed me, there was now a lady working and he had gotten a stack of towels. “Was she nice?” I asked without opening my eyes. This was one of those questions I ask my husband that he never understands. He honestly doesn’t care if people are nice. If they have a family. How long they’ve worked at a place. He just cares if they are doing their job. “She gave me coffee and towels.” was his reply. I stuck out my hand, took the coffee and the first of our three days in Wisconsin began. It was a blur of one beautiful place after another. We had coffee at a charming coffee house around a fire that was completely necessary. (You probably didn’t appreciate that sentence enough if you’re not from Texas!) We walked along the beach of Lake Michigan and the puppy barked at water. We got ice cream late one night at a wonderful old-fashioned ice cream parlor called Beernsten’s the was something from a kid’s best dream. Glass jars of different chocolates lined every counter. We saw red lighthouses and gorgeous hydrangeas casually growing beside the road like they wouldn’t cost me a fortune back home. We wore light jackets and shivered and talked, mildly seriously, about whether we would want to live in Wisconsin. (No, because of the winters!) Stopped one night to watch a full moon rise over Lake Michigan and felt our throats catch at the peaceful beauty. Smiled at the other folks watching the same thing and pleasantly frittered time away as vacationers do. So much so that, suddenly, it was our last night in our homely room that had started to feel like home. I packed and then, to celebrate, I told my husband I was going to get popcorn. I hadn’t been back to the office since that first night and I wondered on my way over if our friend Spicoli would be there. He was. Click-clack. But this time, when I walked in, he stopped typing and looked up at me. And, he talked. “Sooo, what did you guys do?” He said with a real interest. I stared at him for a moment and then answered, “We ate cheese curds.” All the wonderful things we had done and seen and that’s all I could come up with. “We ate cheese curds.” He nodded his head and that was that. Click-clack. I gathered up my popcorn and another candy bar (We were on vacation!) and asked him to charge them to my room. He told me, “I got you.” And then, just as I was about to go outside, he added, “Wisconsin is cool. Come back.” But he smiled. A real smile. I smiled back. A happy Texan and a quiet kid from Wisconsin. I couldn’t wait to tell my husband about the interaction even though I knew he wouldn’t care.

Winterset, Iowa

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A cozy day watching movies is pretty much my idea of a dream scenario. It was on just one of those days that I first watched Bridges of Madison County. My kids were young and I was sick on a day they weren’t. If you’re a mom you know that never happens. They always give it to us. Always. So, we take off work for their illness and then suffer through ours at work. Meetings, and hallways and blowing our noses in bathrooms. Miserable. But that day I had achieved a kid’s version of a snow day. I was home on the couch with the entire afternoon stretching out in front of me. So, I watched Bridges of Madison County. We could probably do entire societal studies on why that movie hits us girls so hard. It’s right up there with The Notebook. La La Land. You pick. I remember blubbering as the movie ended. Pulling another box of tissue out of the laundry room and burying my face in my daughter’s Blue’s Clues pillow while I cried some more. It was a definite core memory for me–to reference another great movie. (Inside Out!) I was just so proud of Francesca for choosing her family over the handsome photographer. The last scene where they are driving through town made me yell at the TV. “Don’t do it. It’s not worth it!” An hour later and after another dose of cold medicine I cried because I felt sorry for her. She had let her true love go and strapped on all the weight of being a mom and wife. I was feeling that very deeply. Dinner needed to be made and it would be me making it. I couldn’t smell and my eyes were swollen shut. I pictured myself leaving town sitting in a truck with Clint Eastwood and cried some more. All of this to say, I have been obsessed with the covered bridges ever since then. I love to take pictures and I couldn’t wait to take pictures of them. Didn’t think I ever would because when would I be in Winterset, Iowa? It’s not exactly on the way anywhere. Unless, of course, you embark on an epic road trip with your husband who hated the movie, but loves you. If that happens, you drive out of your way to make the small town a stop. To spend the night there. To follow road signs and local’s directions to find all of the bridges. To drive down country roads and walk through prickly grass. To take too many pictures that, in latter years, would end up in a box under the bed but now live on my phone. What will today’s kids do with all of the pictures saved on the cloud? What is the computer equivalent of a cardboard box? Where would Francesca have hidden her secrets today? I don’t know, but I know I’m glad I have 96 pictures of those bridges on my phone (I counted) and I’m glad I had the chance to see Winterset, Iowa! We discovered the John Wayne museum is there also. No dogs are allowed, but on a hot day the nice ladies working there will let you carry your puppy through the exhibits. They will scruff her behind the ears and point you to the best bowl of french onion soup you’ll probably ever have. Your husband will enjoy the museum and the delicious dinner. You will both make faces at the beer that tastes like a Christmas tree and you will fall in love with Iowa a little bit. Have a not serious conversation about moving there and take forty-five more pictures ( I counted again) of their charming downtown and courthouse. You will go to sleep happy and tired and wondering how you could have waited so long to visit Winterset, Iowa. The next day, as you leave, you will wave goodbye at the town and blow the city limit sign a little kiss. Your husband will roll his eyes at you and you will get out your phone to see how far it is to the next stop. At least that’s what I hope happens because it was a really good day.

Mitzi used points.

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I had the occasion to be having lunch in a Thai restaurant not long ago. One of those places with gleaming dark tables that are placed entirely too close to each other. Fine if the place is empty. A problem if it’s not. Well, it’s a problem for me. I mostly don’t enjoy strangers listening to my conversations. The folks who made my phone notwithstanding. You know how that goes.

Anyway, back to my lunch. I was there with my husband. He’s mostly quiet. Mostly always. We work it out by me talking and him grunting. That’s all I need. I have more than enough words for both of us. This particular day I was glad he was quiet for another reason. I was in heaven. The closeness of the tables were yielding rich, rich fodder for my writer’s heart. The lunching ladies at the table next to us appeared to be operating under the belief they were enclosed in a force field created just for them that kept the rest of the restaurant from hearing their conversation. They were not. I assure you. I could hear everything. And I was listening. Oh boy was I.

Before you judge please understand they were talking about really personal things. Things I shut my bedroom door and hide in my closet to talk to my sister about! Seriously.

I’m just going to say the one with flashy diamond rings is married to a man who should be checking his credit card bills a little closer. His wife isn’t traveling solo. The one in the pink sweater set has finally found a girl named Veronica who waxes her in the manner she grew accustomed to the three years she lived in New York. A perfectly precious apartment across the street from Central Park and nether regions waxed as smooth as a new born baby. She shared the number with the girls in case they wanted to switch from that perfectly horrid Angela at the other place. She promised them they would be pleased and reapplied her red lipstick. It matched my cheeks. The one who kept checking her watch and who ate all of her lunch, even though she wasn’t remotely hungry, has decided not to invite April to her next luncheon. I guess I understand. April did blow her nose on one of her host’s beautiful napkins at the table while people were still eating. And she understands they were paper napkins but they were expensive and they were on theme. Who does that? At this point in her story, per my peripheral vision, she rested her forehead onto her open hand while the lady next to her patted her shoulder. Tragedy. In the Thai restaurant. I used my own napkin to wipe a tear before it landed in my food. I felt her trauma.

Sometimes, as a writer, I have to work hard to hear someone’s conversation. I guess I really shouldn’t listen, but y’all are interesting. You give me great ideas that I use to my advantage. But not with these ladies. They did me the favor of talking at full volume. In a loud restaurant. I didn’t miss a word. Not one. Well that is until the topic of a friend’s upcoming wedding came up. It’s going to be in Vail. In the summer. They hate the color palette. Champagne and gold. So dated. Shrimp for dinner sounds good. They are all flying together. It will be so fun to get drunk on the plane together. (Bet that will generate a headline somewhere!) And the condos they rented are walking distance from the shops. One of them is looking for a perfect carving to hang over the new fireplace at the lake house.

But then, something incredible happened. A topic was introduced these ladies didn’t feel was polite to discuss in public. I’m not even kidding. I mean at this point any patron of the restaurant could have blackmailed any of the three with a pretty fair chance of scoring some cash. But, apparently there are some things that are just not to be shared. Mitzy, their dear friend, was taking a different flight than the rest of them because, pink sweater set whispered quietly and emphatically, she bought her ticket with points. “Points!” she repeated fiercely.

Granted, I almost missed that part but, thankfully, I had accidentally dropped my napkin and had to bend over to retrieve it. What? You’ve never dropped your napkin? At least I’m not April. Anyway, back to the ladies, their friend had not used cash and purchased the best seat available to anyone on earth. Instead, she had taken a lesser seat to save money. Three heads landed in three palms and they were all patting each other’s back. A commiserative circle for the ages.

It was at this point that I choked on my soup and my husband looked up at me, grinned and asked if I was ready to leave. I grinned back and said, “No way am I leaving this chair. Ever.” He grinned again and went back to his rice. Turns out he’s learned a few things from me.

There would be a long conversation later. The miles in our truck spent relaying the conversation to each other and laughing until our sides hurt. Taking comfort in the fact that our credit card bills hold no secrets. That we use plain ole’ Bounty napkins and can withstand table nose blowing. That we would never discuss waxing to each other much less in public.

And that we have a heart for Mitzi and her points. She could be one of us. Granted probably much better dressed, but I bet she wouldn’t turn down the free peanuts. Mitzi seems like a practical gal. And she has my eternal respect and gratitude.

She made those three lower their voices and that fact is still making me giggle. A lot. I like giggling and I like stranger’s conversations. Sue me. I’m a writer.

Searching for Christmas. Day 11.

~ yellowlamplight ~ 2 Comments

Yesterday, I came home after a very long day and sat down at my computer. I wrote a blog for all of you that was very important to me. It took me a couple of hours and I was just about to publish it when my computer glitched. Suddenly, all of my words were gone. I looked for them. I did. I asked my husband, brilliant computer engineer that he is, for help. No luck. It was just gone. I spent the next couple of hours trying to recreate it. That was a big mistake. Finally, in frustration, I closed my computer and went to bed. This morning I got up and completely erased my attempts to recreate what I had written. It wasn’t right and never will be. I might try again in a few weeks when I can’t remember just enough of what I’d written to frustrate me. And maybe i won’t. So, if you’ve been following this Advent blog, I hope you will forgive me for the lateness of this post and that all you get today is a picture of my work space last night. I will go about my day realizing, yet again, how much you miss the words you’ve written when they are lost to you.