And...Done!

Well, it's done. I started my facebook page about FlipSide Graphics. Check it out.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/FlipSide-Graphics/342047469153342

Since I thought I would check in with you, I'll hurry and type out a short blog. Do you know where I got the name FlipSide graphics? No? Well, go grab a Pepsi and sit down a minute and I'll give you the scoop.

I have made multiple friends from the clients that have graced my doorstep. Carolyn, Keith, Warren, Kathy, Midge, the Cobias. Just to name a few. I named my business after a client that I became friends with. Her name is Denise.

I have different names for my clients to explain who I am talking about when I mention them to my family. Carolyn is "the soap lady", the Cobias are my "pancake people" and Denise was my "soup gal". I named them according to their business.

I don't even remember the year I met Denise. I know it was before Jaden was born because I remember her office sending me flowers to the hospital. Jaden is 11. It's been a few years ago. Our time together led us down a road that became laden with potholes. Although the way was treacherous, every step of the path wound through beauty. I envision poppies and daisy's with a smattering of lilac freshening the air.

Back to how this all came to be. I was off to a meeting at the "soup place". I had done work for them before, but Denise had just been hired on and I was to meet with her and she was to be my contact person from that point on.

I have to admit I was a little nervous to meet with Denise. I wanted to keep this client and REALLY wanted her to like my work. We met. What should have been a 15-20 minute meeting turned into an hour and a half. We were friends. We were probably friends in another existence and were just lucky enough to find each other again. We talked and talked and talked. We laughed and joked and although we really had never met before, we spent time catching up on our lives.

We became friends. We exchanged phone numbers, emails, addresses and vowed that we would get together again. We did. Regularly.

Time passed. Our visits were sporadic, but it always seemed that we picked up right where we had left off. We chatted during the meetings we scheduled for the soup labels. We went to dinner or lunch together once or twice a month. I had little kids at home and she was trying to manage a career with her family. We just didn't get together as much as we would have liked.

I had a meeting at the soup place. It had become necessary for Denise to end that relationship, so my meeting was scheduled with a new gal. Denise has 4 BEAUTIFUL daughters. One of them, Mary Lynn worked in the office. I asked Mary Lynn about her Mom and she told me that Denise was under some stress and that it was making an outward show. Denise was speaking strangely. Mary Lynn asked me to go visit with her. I did. As soon as the meeting was over.

I was so happy to see her. I like to say that she was equally as happy. It was a brief reunion and a small respite from the stresses in our lives. She did speak as if she was drunk. Of course I made fun of her. We laughed at her speech. It WAS quite funny. This woman was VERY educated and took pride in her ability to master the English language. So for her to sound like a drunk? Hilarious.

We kept contact regularly from that point on. I would swing by and see how she was doing. We talked on the phone a bit, but it was difficult to understand her, so we stuck to the visits as much as we could.

Denise was getting the run-around from the medical world. We all kept leaning towards some kind of stress, when FINALLY she was going to be seen by a specialist. She went. I didn't hear from her. I waited. I STILL didn't hear from her. My impatience won and I swung by her house.

Denise met me at the door. I knew that it wasn't good. Problem was, she couldn't talk clear enough (especially through her tears) to get it all out. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a legal pad and pen and we sat on the couch.

It was one of those moments that will FOREVER be locked in my mind. My senses must have been buzzing with life. I remember the smell of the scented candle burning in the corner. I remember what she wore. I remember what I wore. I remember what was on top of the piano, where the dogs were, the tremor in her voice and the shake of her hand.  She spelled it out for me. L-O-U  G-E-H-R-I-G-S  D-I-S-E-A-S-E. They call it ALS.

I had heard of Lou Gehrig. I didn't know about the disease or what it all meant. We talked a bit, but I know I must have been distracted because I wanted to get home and find out what it all meant. I told her that we would FIGHT. She had me in her corner and I was hell-bent on kicking this.

I went home. I studied. I cried. My friend was going to die. She was going to die a slow, HORRIBLE death and there was NOTHING that ANYONE could do about it. I was helpless.

I spent EVERY Thursday (and some Tuesdays) with Denise. Before she completely lost her ability to speak, we were back on the couch chatting/writing when she brought up how she envisioned her funeral. She told me that she wanted a closed casket and that instead of a picture of her, she wanted a stick figure that said "see you on the flipside".

I kept the picture. It's my logo. That night my little company became FlipSide graphics.

Denise died. Her story lives in my heart. I painted poppies on my back porch. I still hear her laughter and I will ALWAYS carry her wherever I go.

Before Denise died, she wrote a bunch of stories and "essays" on thoughts and experiences in her life. I have those writings. She emailed them every week to her friends and family. I'll be making another book. When I do, you'll be the first to know. It will be on Blurb.com again. I have named it Emails From Denise. It will be done this summer.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

Not Even Myself

I went to the movie this last weekend with Shelby and Daulton. We went to the new one with Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close".  It was so much fun and what a great, feel good movie!

The movie might have headlined Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock, but the star of the show was Thomas Horn.  He played Tom and Sandra's 9-year old son, Oskar.  Thomas has not been in a movie before. But, let me tell you, he was something to watch.

The basis of the movie is (from Google):

Oskar is convinced that his father, who died in the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center, has left a final message for him hidden somewhere in the city. Feeling disconnected from his grieving mother and driven by a relentlessly active mind that refuses to believe in things that can't be observed, Oskar begins searching New York City for the lock that fits a mysterious key he found in his father's closet. His journey through the five boroughs takes him beyond his own loss to a greater understanding of the observable world around him. 


Oskar is afraid of EVERYTHING.  He's afraid of air planes, bridges, streets, noise and people (just to name a few). So for Oskar to embark on a quest that will carry him throughout New York? Well, suffice it to say that this is no small feat for him.

Much of the movie is narrated by Oskar. Just before he heads out the door to begin the search, he says "I was determined that nothing would get in my way. Not even myself."

I've thought on that statement quite a bit this week. I've said it before. I'm guilty of getting in my own way.

I am creative. I went to college and got my degree in Graphic Design. I'm good at what I do. I'm not the best-that-there-is-out-there good, but I am talented. I see the world in shapes and colors and fonts and styles and have a great idea of how to wrap it all up into a pretty little package.

Where I go wrong is in the business end of owning/running a business. I'm always joking (probably more like trying to explain myself) with the statement that like the mechanic that never fixes his car, I'm the graphic designer that doesn't advertise. Lame.

A few weeks ago, I read about a gal that lost weight by blogging about it. I'm going to do that. You're going to be my captive audience. Every once in a while I'm going to throw in what I'm doing to better my business and get my name out there. I'm going to quit blaming other things and take the responsibility and place it square on my shoulders. I'm going to hike up my big girl panties and give Mark some help with the household finances.

I'm going to share my talent and make some money while I'm at it. Take a look at my facebook page.


http://www.facebook.com/pages/Inspired-Because/304076676284880 

My first step will be to update it and create a new page with ALL of my graphics.  I will launch the second page (FlipSide Graphics) by tomorrow. I have part of my business that I call Inspired Because. I felt that I wanted to do a special line of pictures with inspirational quotes. The other page will be my FlipSide Graphics page. This will show a smattering of the graphics I have done in the past. I'm hoping that people will see how easy (and inexpensive) it is to get a personalized item. You know. Something that is exclusively your own. I have connections in just about any medium you desire. T-shirts, magnets, posters, car stickers, banners, jewelry, movies, books, logos. You name it. I can do it. I CAN DO IT!

I'll keep you updated as I go. I'll keep it short, but I know it will help if I have someone to answer to. So, here goes. If you like my work, spread the word. If you need a cool gift that will WOW those around you, email me.

Nothing will get in my way. Not even myself.

Tag...You're It!

A few summers ago, Shelby went swimming with some friends. As per her normal routine, she dumped all her crap on my kitchen table to "put away later". Drives me nuts.  ESPECIALLY with her.  She's the WORST.  When you enter my house, you step through a front room, enter a hallway and turn right to enter the kitchen where (of course) the table is, or you can turn left with a quick right and smack into Shelby's door. If you were to measure, I'd be willing to bet it's equal distance from the hall doorway to my kitchen table or to Shelby's room.

A rational person might think it would make sense for her to just drop things into her room. But, no, Shelby is FOREVER slinging her things on my table. She drops her keys there. She drops her SHOES on the table. Books, earrings, candy, IPod. If it is in her grimy paws, it lands on my table.

Don't think for a second that she is just dropping her stuff off for a moment and eventually will gather it up and place it in her room.  No, it stays and stays and stays and stays. There are times she will drop her stuff on the table, TURN AROUND and head to the bathroom that is RIGHT BY HER ROOM. ARRRRRRRRRRGH!

I yell, we squabble. I tell her my table is NOT her closet. She lamely tells me she is going to get to it in a minute. WHATEVER.

So when that summer day hit and there were flip flops, towels, sunglasses, and sun screen flung on my table it crossed my mind to beat her within an inch of her life.  I know you've seen the movies where a character is SUPREMELY upset and has a moment where their imagination takes over and they visualize themselves doing unspeakable damage to whomever crossed their path. I experienced that.

Instead of extreme use of violence, I opted to put all her stuff on her bed. One of the items that I grabbed was an old blue bath towel. It's not ours. I didn't know who it belonged to, didn't care. Shelby could get it back to WHOEVER and NOT put it on the table.

A couple of days later...that ugly towel was back on the table. Does this girl EVER learn?  I put it back in her room. Later that day?  You guessed it. It was back on the table. This time, Shelby was in her room when I discovered it, so I picked it up and flung it at her and told her to PUT IT AWAY. Brat.

She flung it back at me and said she didn't know who the towel belonged to, so I could put it out with the swim towels. What?

Game on.  I waited until Shelby was gone and slipped into her closet and stuck it inside one of her sweatshirts she had hanging up.  A couple of weeks later, she went to wear that sweatshirt and the towel was in it. I was quite proud of how ingenious I was in making sure that SHE dealt with her own crap.  A few weeks later I found the towel in one of my drawers. WHAT THE CRUD?

I hid it in her car. I found it in some of my belongings.

I waited for Christmas. I wrapped the towel in a very pretty package and the family howled with laughter when she opened her "gift." Spring came and I went to the basement to pull out my summer clothes. (I alternate clothes in my closet according to the season because there just isn't enough room for everything.) I opened one of the totes and there was that DANG towel.

I can't imagine my "lesson" has sunk in and I can't fathom either one of us conceding victory. We're both pretty stubborn that way.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that when I enter the pearly gates, I'll be carting the stupid towel with me. I'll probably be swearing the whole time I'm walking up the path to greet my maker. But, THANK GOODNESS!  At least I know that HE'LL understand. After all, HE did this. HE created this stubborn, smart, funny, beautiful girl, and then he turned her loose on ME!

Until that time, I only have one thing to say..."Hey Shelby, TAG! YOU'RE IT!"

A Story About Friendship

I wrote a book. I've had it safely tucked away in my file for 9 years now. I wrote it right after my friend died on January 05, 2002. It's not in the realm of great novels such as Little Women, Lord of the Rings or Tom Sawyer.  It falls more in the category of Dick and Jane (except I highly doubt it will be read and remembered by every single first grade student in the nation.)  You can check the book out at blurb.com. Just type my name Linnette Deason in the search field. I think if you type the name of the book My Best Friend Ray you'll get to it as well. Here is a small preview, but I think it's more legible on the Blurb website.

My Best Friend...

Hard Cover with Dus...

By Linnette Deason

Book Preview

I gave it to my kids for Christmas this year. I have waited for a way to be able to print the book, and FINALLY I found a site on the internet that does print-on-demand so I didn't have to pay for a grundle of books to gather dust in my closet somewhere.

I'm very proud of my endeavor. It's cute. The story is short and sweet and the illustrations are simple. (Although this SIMPLE book took over 50 hours to create....HA!)

This blog isn't about my accomplishment (although I am very proud.  Yes, I've patted my back a couple of times.)  I wanted to write about Ray. I wanted to share more of the story.

Ray was our neighbor for 5 years before I came to know him. I would see him pass by my house in his pick-up truck with his trusty dog, Bandit, sitting in the passenger seat. Sometimes we would do the obligatory wave to each other, but quite honestly, most times I found something to occupy my hands so I wouldn't have to acknowledge him.

He was a beast of a neighbor. He was constantly swearing at me. He swore at the *#! damn dogs and my *#! damn kids. As my kids got older and the boys began skating, he would stop his truck on his way home to yell at them to get out of the *#! damn road.  He got my phone number and would call me OFTEN to tell me that my dogs were barking, or the kids were playing too loud, or that I needed to get my kids off the skateboards.  Yes, he was a nightmare. I avoided his calls, his gaze and his hellos at ALL costs.

Fast forward to the early summer of 2001. I can't remember why, but the power was out. It had been out for a few hours and Mark, the kids and I were outside in the back yard. The kids were playing football with Mark and I was folding a load of laundry at the picnic table.

Dusk fell upon us and we began breaking out the candles and flashlights. I was watching the kids scamper around the yard when I saw Ray exit his truck and make his way up his back stairs and into his house. I know my first thought was something like "Looks like the Grumpy-Old-Man-Around-The-Corner is home". Then, I caught myself and thought "I wonder if he has a flashlight with working batteries, or candles to light up this darkness."  I decided that we had better go check on him and see if he needed anything.

Quite honestly, I don't remember if I went over to his house, or if I sent the girls over, but either way, he was checked on and despite all voiced worries and complaints from the kids, he was invited to dinner the following night.  I was certain Ray would not want to come. I could have sworn that he despised our family and dogs and that there was no way under the heavens that he would set foot in our home.  I had told the kids that I knew he wouldn't come so there would be no harm in asking. I told them "sometimes grumpy people are just lonely" so we would just invite him to be nice and then it would be over and we had done the "right thing".  Nearly blew me away when he accepted. Crap! Now I not only had to make dinner for this ornery old fart, but I had to think of CONVERSATION. Ugh.

We barbecued. Ray came over and brought along his dog. We had a great time. He told stories about his horses, his youth, his dog and experiences he had while on the job as a police officer. He was witty and charming and a genuine pleasure to have. That was the beginning of one of my greatest friendships. Ever.

There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't take the time to swing by his house and visit. However brief or extended our visits, I made sure he was healthy and fed. I told him daily that I loved him. And I meant it. I drove him to doctor appointments, shopping, and any errands that he needed to see to. He still drove himself to breakfast every morning and dinner on week nights and on Saturdays. But Sundays were ours.

Ray came every Sunday for dinner. Most times I would make mashed potatoes, or some kind of side dish and he would have me take him to Kentucky Fried Chicken and he would get a bucket of chicken. He loved that stuff.

Tanna and Shelby cleaned his house two or three times a week. They would do some general cleaning and most times the cleaning led to sitting in the front room and chatting with Ray. They adored him and enjoyed this time immensely.

I worried about Ray. I am able to see his back yard from my bedroom window and I would check several times a day to see when his truck made it home, if his sidewalks needed shoveled or if he was making his way in or out of his house. He was aging and with that came a sort of shuffle-walk. He took FOREVER to get from point A to point B. I would watch the tedious progress and my heart would fill with a mixture of amusement and concern.

My circumstances changed and I found myself temporarily adding three more children to my own five. I went to work. I worked nights and Sunday mornings to help balance the additional monetary demands that were placed on our family.

Saturday, January 05, 2002 rolled around and for some reason I had to work that day.  I didn't usually work Saturdays, and after working a full shift, I was anticipating my sweats, a movie and a dinner of "if you can find it, you can eat it".  Mark was out of town on a golf trip and I wasn't cooking. Period.

My bliss (or more like my idea of bliss) came to a screeching halt when I walked into my house and was informed that Ray had called.  I was supposed to go to his house at 5:00, but that was an hour away and I was oh-so-tired and in serious need of a break. I went up to my room and while I was changing my clothes, he called the house AGAIN. Arrrrrrrgh.

When I picked up the phone, Ray told me he was "ready to go get the chicken." Remember that we did dinner on SUNDAY?  Well, Ray didn't remember. I told him that I was going to be there to visit in an hour, but we weren't doing dinner until tomorrow and that since I wasn't coming for an hour he still had time to go grab his dinner at Nates Diner (that's where he ate EVERY night) and I would come over when he got back. He told me he'd see me in a minute.

Sigh. Looked like we were having chicken.

I got dressed and half-heartedly headed out the door. I made my way around the block to Ray's house and went inside.

Ray had on his cowboy finest. He had his good hat (black felt cowboy hat), a new shirt (tan with blue, black and red vertical stripes and pearl button/snaps), blue jean Wranglers and his good boots. He had shaved and got himself all "pertied up" for dinner. He was so spunky that it quickly rubbed off onto me and I snapped myself into good spirits.

We had a routine. While he was getting his stuff gathered, I would take his keys, load up Bandit (we didn't go ANYWHERE without her) and start up the truck to get it warming up while I went back into the house and made the shuffle/walk trek from his back door to the truck.

I got the truck started and headed in to help him down the stairs. Ray told me a joke. I remembered the joke for years, but it now eludes me. Anyhow, we were laughing and teasing with each other. Ray would brace himself with the handrail on his left side and I would keep his right side steady as we maneuvered the five stairs leading down to his sidewalk.

We were maneuvering, laughing, and holding hands when IT happened. We had made it down two stairs and had three to go when Ray turned purple, gasped and fell on me. Down we both went.

I'm sure what came next was only a few minutes, but honestly, it felt like hours. You know in movies when someone is screaming for help and the neighbors hear and come running and an ambulance is called and all live happily ever after? It's all a lie.

I scrambled from underneath him. I began screaming for help. Nobody heard me. I began CPR on him. I remember crying and begging him not to "make me do this".  I remember being filled with such hope as I blew life into his lungs. For a split second his color would return. But as I would pump his heart, his color would slowly ebb and he would return to grey.

After a few minutes, I knew nobody was going to hear my cries and that I would have to briefly leave him to get to a phone. Can I tell you that was one of the most difficult things I have ever done? It was only about 30 seconds, but I knew each second would count. I prayed that I would find wind beneath my wings.

I ran into the house and grabbed the phone and was dialing 9-1-1 as I busted back to him. Once the dispatcher answered, I threw the phone on the ground beside his head and began yelling into the phone that I needed help. Problem was, I didn't know his exact address, and I wasn't about to stop performing CPR again to find his address.  I gave them the address to my house and gave them directions to Ray's house from that point. I yelled his name to them and told them they had dang well better find me.

My best friend died in my arms.

I don't know if it was fate or some Higher Power that had intervened that day. I don't know why he was so insistent that I come right then, but I'm glad I did.

I wish I had something great and inspiring to say to end this. I don't. I know that I'm glad I listened to the "Jiminy Cricket" in my heart when he said to invite Ray over. I'm glad that I shared the last stage of his life. I'm glad that I was the one to hold him when he passed.

Listen. Watch. See. Feel.

I don't think those four things can lead you astray.

...And She Lived Happily Ever After Until The End Of Her Days

Each December my family watches the Lord of the Rings movies. Extended edition. When the movies were first released to the theater, we went three years consecutively for our Christmas movie and the tradition has continued onward with the release of the DVD's.

We don't always get to watch them together. Currently, Shelby is watching them with friends, Tyson and Diana are watching at their house, Goose is catching them at his place and Jaden and I are here. It's one of those things we share even if we're apart.

Jaden and I will watch the third and final on Wednesday night and then the movies will gather dust for a year until we wipe them off, pop the popcorn and see the world saved again next year.

I don't tire of these movies. Each year I say "I forget how great that movie is." Time passes, and I do forget.

There is a bit in the second movie, The Two Towers, that brings me to tears every single time. There are times I feel like boo-hooing when I see it, but most times I allow a quiet tear to slip down my cheek.

If you're familiar with the story, you know that there is a ring that allows evil to walk on this planet. The ring must be destroyed. The task of this destruction befalls an unlikely hero by the name of Frodo Baggins. The ring has the capability of ruling the ring bearer and Frodo is constantly in a mental battle to ensure success. He and his friend, Sam, are off to Mordor to throw the ring into the very fires that were responsible for the creation of this ring. There is a fellowship that is sworn to aid in the destruction of the ring. Long story short, the fellowship is separated from Frodo and Sam and the two small hobbits steadfastly continue. The journey is arduous.  All around them is war, death, fear and discontent. They grow weary of the constant anguish surrounding them.

Frodo: I can’t do this, Sam.
Sam: I know. It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for.

I like this statement. I know that it's from a book. Yes, yes, I'm aware there really isn't a struggle. There aren't elves, hobbits, wizards, dwarfs, dragons or other mystical characters. We don't bear swords and wander around dressed in armor calling each other "My Lord" or "My Lady".  Yet, I find we live in a parallel universe.

I find that I have fought my own dragons. Most of them I slew. Some of them kicked my trash, but I promise you, they knew I was there.

Be willing to slay your dragons. Stand and join the fellowship when your friends and family need a hand to cast their burdens into the fire. I think we're in charge of our own story. I choose a happy ending. . .

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

Bah Humbug...

I'm not a big fan of Christmas any longer. It's over commercialized, over priced, and quite frankly over rated. There is no "real meaning of Christmas". Those people that say those words are blowing smoke out of their nether-regions.  They're just like everyone else, trying to figure out who to buy for, who they don't dare leave out, gifts for the family, friends, co-workers, church people, even random office parties that require a gift exchange. There are treats to be made for neighbors.  Let's be honest ... Some of those neighbors don't even like us. How about the expense of stockings and all the crap that goes into them?  Stamps for the Christmas cards?  I said it once, I'll say it again...BAH HUMBUG.

Except...
I DO like candy canes, hot chocolate and new jammies.  I thoroughly enjoy seeing the little ones lined up to see Santa and to see their little faces filled with excitement over seeing THE MAN.  I love the anticipation that is in the air. I like that people (in general) attempt to put on a better version of themselves for a month out of the year.  I am giddy when I finish creating my Christmas cards and my new addition of a DVD of pictures set to music so everyone can see updated pics of the kids.  (My form of the brag letter.)  I watch with pure pleasure as my kids draw names for their sibling gift exchange.   I share their excitement when they pull me aside to tell me of the really-cool-can't-live-without-gift that they bought. I like the quiet of LATE Christmas eve when I sit with all the lights out and watch the lights twinkling on the tree.  I watch It's A Wonderful Life every year as I wrap presents and we read The Polar Express each Christmas Eve before bed.  (And, yes, I cry EVERY time.) Oh yeah, and I LOVE that minute of anticipation when my family is gathered around the tree for a family picture right before we open presents.  I watch as Mark dons the Santa hat and hands the kids their gifts one at a time so that we can all be excited and amazed at the presents. I think it's HILARIOUS that he'll grab a present, walk up to hand it to Tanna and then while she has her hands outstretched to grab it, he'll blow by her and give it to Jaden...because it really was Jaden's to begin with.  I think that Christmas dinner is the best dinner of the year.  I love that my house is chaos...filled with laughter, teasing, yelling and joy.

This year we aren't going to be able to provide an expensive gift-laden Christmas.  Okay, let's be honest, we probably never have and probably never will.  I guess it really isn't the gifts that make Christmas so magical.  I think it's ALL the other stuff. It's the most wonderful time of the year to reflect on the people that bring joy and love into our lives. It doesn't cost a dime to wear a smile, so wear it with pride. Be the better version of yourself and wouldn't it be great if the gift you received in return was a bit of kindness?

So, my family will get all the love I can give.  We'll have a really FANTASTIC dinner on Christmas day.  We'll laugh and fight and joke and yell and sleep and eat and game and watch movies.  We'll do it all with love in our hearts.  Deason-style. You can't buy that off a shelf, now can you?

Unsung Heroes

I've had this blog on my mind for a little more than a week.  I have been so focused on getting Thanksgiving taken care of (and for your information, I did that in STYLE!) But now with Christmas looming, I find my time more and more limited. So, I'm writing in my pajamas...minus contacts, add slippers, hair uncombed ... don't worry too much,  I did brush my teeth!

The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, we gave Goose a gift. I created concert-style t-shirts of his 2011 tour for firefighting.  Yeah, they rock!  I'm proud of them.  Good job, Mom!

I handed the shirts to our family members and when I went to hand one to my eldest son, Tyson, I was overwhelmed with emotion. It wasn't the warm, fuzzy emotion, either.  It was GUILT.  I think that I'm guilty of giving Goose so much attention for the work he does and that I don't always recognize what the rest of my family is doing that benefits their lives and the lives of the people that surround them.

I think we all have heros within our grasp. I'm not the talking about the "swoop-in-and-save-the-day" kind of heros. More like the people that are filled with such incredible strength, kindness, hope, love and unselfish generosity with NEVER a thought for their own needs or discomforts.  BAM!  You're thinking of someone right now, aren't you?

My unsung hero is Tyson. Those who know Tyson, aren't shocked by this statement. In fact, they might be thinking of him right now, too.  Those who don't know Tyson, well, let me be the one to tell you, this world is a better place with him in it.

Tyson has all the characteristics that you expect in your average-every-day-kind-of-hero. He's strong, handsome, kind, generous, unselfish, giving, etc.  Although these things put him on hero status in my eyes, it could be argued that many people possess these characteristics and they don't necessarily make him SO special.

Maybe so ... maybe not.  Years ago I was doing a family "brag" letter at Christmas, and Mark and I were talking about what we wanted to put in that letter to describe the kids and what was going on in their lives.  When Tyson's name was brought up, Mark said it best.  He said, "When I grow up, I want to be like Tyson."  Tyson was 15.

I'm sitting here thinking of stories to tell that would back up my statement and make you understand why I would say something so bold. The list is so long and the stories are SO complicated that it would take a novel to complete them.  So I'm going to keep it simple.  Stephen King is quoted as saying "The most important things are the hardest to say because words diminish them."  I find that to be the case here.

I love my son.  MANY people love my son. They have relied on him through the hard times and took pleasure in the good times. There isn't a person in his life that he hasn't shared with unselfishly. He gives the best gifts to our family and has never asked for anything in return.  In fact, I can't name a time that he has ever asked me for anything.  Most kids ask for new clothes, shoes, money, cars or whatever they want or need.  Not Tyson.

Rudyard Kipling wrote a very famous poem.  I swear he took the words from my heart.

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;  If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;  If you can meet with triumph and disaster  And treat those two imposters just the same;  If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,  Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,  And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,  And lose, and start again at your beginnings  And never breath a word about your loss;  If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew  To serve your turn long after they are gone,  And so hold on when there is nothing in you  Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on"; If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,  Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;  If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;  If all men count with you, but none too much;  If you can fill the unforgiving minute  With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -  Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,  And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

So, Tyson doesn't get a t-shirt with his accomplishments on it. He gets a quiet "thank you" from friends, family, and the strangers he helps on the way. Yep, he's my hero. And if you don't have a hero in your life, you need to get to know my son. If you're one of the lucky ones, he'll be your hero, too.