The Greatest Gift is Love

I've always believed that religion is a personal choice. I faithfully practice the rule that you don't talk about religion or politics to anyone.

A few months ago, Mark's cousin Sheri contacted us. She wanted to head up a charity golf tournament for me in California.

If you have read my blog, on Saturday, April 27, 2013 I wrote "I Knew It" about Aunt Joy passing away. Sheri is Aunt Joy's daughter. Sheri and I were pregnant together 25 years ago. I was going for number three (Tanna) and she was having her first baby (Brittney). We both lived in Ojai and it was HOT. One of my happiest memories with Sheri was on July 4th the year the girls were due. We had a barbecue, Mark set up his guitar/amp equipment and while the guys all fooled around on the guitar, Sheri and I sat in lawn chairs with our FAT feet in the kiddy-pool filled with cold water, eating hamburgers and listening to the guys sing and laugh.

Sunday, October 19, I found myself back in Ojai attending the golf tournament. After the tournament, we had a scrumpdillyicious barbecue and raffle. It was pretty dang cool. DANG cool.

I have always been close to Mark's family. I adore his brothers. My favorite gal pals are my sisters-in-law. I have weaseled myself into the love of his Aunt's and Uncles and his cousins get to deal with me by default.  Family attended. Friends attended. We all had a good time golfing and chatting and laughing.

I love these people. I LOVE THESE PEOPLE. Tons.

It is humbling to be the focus of the kindness of friends, family and strangers. I find a measure of discomfort with these fund raisers that are set up for my benefit. The kindness is humbling, the support is amazing and the generosity is overwhelming. I do find myself lucky, too. I think I am EVER so lucky to be able to hear what I mean to those that I love so much.

Two pretty important events happened at the golf tournament. First, I need to say that I don't want to undo the meaning behind the event as a whole. MANY factors and sacrifices came in to play to put this event together for me. Sheri shopped and worked and fretted and coerced and cajoled friends and strangers and store owners and golfers. Flyers were hung and passed to anyone she came in contact with. Brittney helped. Gerald and Randi and Camryn and Cody pitched in. Dawn and Mike drove from Utah to offer support. Uncle Ron wasn't missing the event for ANY reason. Aunt Mel, her boys, their wives and kids drove two hours from Bakersfield in order to attend. Prizes were donated for the raffle. Pappi cooked our DANG good food. The list goes on and on and on. Just know that it was a ton of work and sacrifice and love. And I know it, too.

A personal experience happened while we were waiting for the golfers to finish up the tournament. I don't know if I want to get into too much detail. However, it plays into a later event, so I need to mention it.

I was asked to hop in a golf cart for some girl talk with a cousin/friend. I did. We chatted and laughed and shared and then she quietly asked if she could pray for me. She did. It was amazing. It came from her heart and it was beautiful.

The barbecue/raffle was winding up when Uncle Bobby walked up to me. He asked if I did much reading. I told him I am a ferocious reader. I love it and read every chance I get. He told me he had something for me. He walked over to his truck and brought me back a package. It contained a Bible. It's called "The Expositor's Study Bible" and it's really cool.

And that, my friends, was a gift that melted my heart.

I know the importance of family. I am consistently amazed at true love given in times of need. I am so grateful for the compassion and service provided to me. I am humbled that time and energy and finances are sacrificed in my behalf. I am so grateful to my family and to my friends for the charity they hold in their hearts.

But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13

Broken Straws

A few years ago my friend, Laurie, shared a theory with me. She said, "Pick up a straw and bend it. Let it straighten out and bend it again." It bent in the same spot. Over and over and over again. Her theory is that when we are forced to bend, we tend to bend at the exact spot where we were first hurt. We go to that place emotionally and that is how we behave.

As time has passed, I have explained that theory to my kids, my friends, my family and strangers. I find it spot on.

Time and time again I emotionally land right where I was broken. My problem? I'm not sure exactly where I became broken. As of late, I have spent many sleepless nights looking inward. I yearn for answers, yet I find muddy memories filled with confusion.

When Aunt Joanne coerced and threatened and inevitably scheduled a meeting for me to figure out all of the "how to's" on signing up for college, I decided to get my degree in graphic design. Of course (at the time) it was the most expensive degree that UVSC offered and my pell grant would not cover the supplies needed in the program. Beckie told me about Job Training Partnership of America (JTPA). If I could get the scholarship my books and supplies would be covered.

I tested. And tested. And tested. Out of 500 applicants, I was chosen for the scholarship. My books, supplies, parking pass, locker and all school necessities were paid for by this scholarship. In return, I had to meet with my assigned counselor every other week to talk about what I needed and HOPEFULLY sludge through some of the baggage I was toting around.

I joke that my Dr. Phil would need a Dr. Phil after finishing with me. He did. For two years, we spent every other week in his office talking and discussing. I don't think that he expected the bends and breaks in my straw and after a few sessions he said "PTSD is beyond my capabilities" and turned our time to school, leaving me to my own madness.

I loved school. I'll brag and let you know that I was on the Dean's list and a member of the Honor Society every term. I was a single mom and learned very quickly to take the kids to the playland at the local McDonald's. Playtime for them. Study time for me. Win-win situation for all parties involved.

However, my straw remains broken. If wishes were granted it would have never been broken. But it was. I am. And I want it fixed.

I have found the fight in me waning. I think that OPCA has played a factor. I wonder why I am fighting a freight train bearing down on me. It's going to hit, right? So why am I shucking and jiving?

I do know the answer. Because my family deserves to see me fight. They deserve a mother/wife that wants to be here and is happy. I desire to be happy. I yearn to be rid of the demons that have haunted me.

I will do it, you know. I will put a new bend in my straw.

My Red Shirt

I'm wearing a red flannel shirt today.

Last year a family member that I love was going through a pretty rough time. I wondered and pondered what I could do to help her realize that she wasn't to endure everything alone. As I was thinking, the thought struck me that everyone in my family would eventually be faced with problems that (at times) would leave them feeling alone and vulnerable.

My favorite television series of all time is Parenthood. I love Ron Howard and feel that everything he touches is golden. SO when I found out he was doing a television series? Yeah. I held my breath with anticipation and wasn't let down. Not one tiny bit. 

Season 4 rolled around and I watched as Kristina was diagnosed with breast cancer. When Kristina embarked on her chemotherapy journey, her mother-in-law, Camille, brought her a fuzzy red shirt to wear throughout her chemo sessions.

As the story progressed, we discovered that the red shirt had been passed along to offer comfort and warmth to several cancer patients and had landed with Kristina. At the end of the episode, we were prompted to go online and find out the story behind the shirt. I did.

I've looked and looked to find the story again, but I can't locate it. SO to make a long story short? Several members of the production crew had been touched by breast cancer, whether it be a loved one or themselves, so there REALLY was a shirt that had been passed around and that very shirt was the one used in the episode.

Thus began my own red shirt and the "Sisterhood of the Traveling Red Shirts" gang.

I liked the idea of something to wrap up in that reminded the wearer that they are not alone. Ever.

A meeting was held, the radically-awesome Deason gals met and were inducted into the sisterhood. I shall not give away our secrets. But the ever-so-covert meeting ends with a gift from each girl to the person in need and the shirt that is to be worn whenever love is needed.

Little did I know that I would eventually be the recipient of the shirt.

Last night I got a text from Pat. She is in the hospital. She has pneumonia and sepsis. The cancer has spread to her sternum, lungs, liver, skin and now to her brain. She is sick. Wow. That's such a small word for how horrible she feels. However, sick it is. AND sick she is.

I dropped Jaden at school this morning and went to the hospital to sit with my friend for a few hours.

When I got home, I took a hot bath and wrapped myself in my shirt.

I sit here trying to express my feelings in black and white. I'm angry. And afraid. And powerless. And afraid. And sad. And afraid. And afraid. And afraid.

And there isn't a dang thing I can do about it.

So I wear my shirt and feel the love of my family. My girls. And I'm stronger because of it.

The Day of Stomach Aches

Today is nearly over. I think I'm glad for that. It's September 11 and we ALL know what that means. It's a day of sadness and grief and mourning and fear and shock with absolutely, positively no relief or comfort to be found.

I hate this day.

I drove Jaden to school today. I don't usually have the radio playing when he is in the jeep. He's a horrible, no-good, rotten teen and I listen to music that has RHYTHM and LYRICS that you can sing along with and it's bad enough that he has to endure the ride with his MOTHER of all people, let alone have his fellow classmates hear my music. Duh.

After I dropped him off and told him "Have a great day. I love you." and he muttered something foreign and slammed my door, I sighed HEAVILY and turned on my radio just in time to hear a tribute to 9/11. Suck. Gave me a gut ache.

In July, my fellow "chicks" and I visited New York. We were SO excited to see the 9/11 Memorial Museum. Actually, the official name is The National September 11 Memorial Museum. The desription on the website says:

The National September 11 Memorial Museum serves as the country’s principal institution for examining the implications of the events of 9/11, documenting the impact of those events and exploring the continuing significance of September 11, 2001.

The Museum’s 110,000 square feet of exhibition space is located within the archaeological heart of the World Trade Center site—telling the story of 9/11 through multimedia displays, archives, narratives and a collection of monumental and authentic artifacts. The lives of every victim of the 2001 and 1993 attacks will be commemorated as visitors have the opportunity to learn about the men, women, and children who died. 

The monumental artifacts of the Museum provide a link to the events of 9/11, while presenting intimate stories of loss, compassion, reckoning, and recovery that are central to telling the story of the attacks and the aftermath.

I don't know what I was expecting. I don't know why it didn't EVER cross my scrawny self-absorbed brain that it would be emotionally draining to see the pictures of the human beings lost or to view the remnants of the precious belongings of the fallen.

We had decided that it was on "the list" to visit the Holocaust Museum. One of my all-time favorite movies is Freedom Writers. In the movie, super cool teacher gal took her students to the Holocaust Museum and I was instantly captivated by the horrors that were experienced by the innocent.

However, the horrors weren't personal.

Does that sound crass? Hollow? Unsympathetic? I don't mean it that way. I can't stand what the Jews endured. I have read The Diary of Anne Frank. I own Night by Elie Wiesel. I am ashamed that the human species can be so cruel to another human being. However, it was a part of history that I have heard about and read about but not that I had experienced.

After leaving the Holocaust Museum, we were close to the 9/11 Memorial Museum and decided to see if they were still selling tickets for the day. They were. We went.

Once again, ignorant me, I don't know what the crap I thought I would see? Did I not know that it would be FILLED with artifacts from that horrible day? It was. 

At once, it was sobering and horrifying and humbling and haunting and surreal and gut wrenching and yet...honorable. We saw fire engines, wallets, uniforms, iron beams. As we walked down a set of stairs, a set of stairs from one of the towers ran along directly to the side. There was a plaque with the staircase. It told us how many people that set of stairs had SAVED. 

I remember leaving and thinking that I would find no comfort in that building if I had a loved one that had lost their life in 9/11. Yet, I am so grateful that the museum was built to bear witness to the horrific events of that day. 

There will come a time that those that go through the museum will be innocent to the pain and fear that filled our country. As the decades pass, these objects will be all that remain of the horror...and the humanity of that day.

The Impossible Dream

I grew up with a love for music. I began plunking on the piano at a young age. I remember listening to my mom play - NOT plunk (trust me). My love of music began with vinyl records on our console stereo, 8 track tapes in the camper and when technology REALLY moved along we owned handy-dandy cassette tapes that you had to eject and turn over in order to hear side B. If a song you were belting along with was playing on side A and the tape ran out? You had to flip the cassette over to continue the remainder of the song.

I remember when we lived in California and Dawn and Mike got a new car. It had a cassette player that played BOTH A and B sides WITHOUT HAVING TO TURN IT YOURSELF. Wow. I was soooooooo jealous!

Mom and Dad had an 8 track of Andy Williams. I LOVED it. I listened to it over and over and over. Rewinding to hear your favorite song was no easy task. It was hit and miss. However, it was PURE JOY when fate stepped in and you landed right at the perfect spot to hear the melody just one more time. Ahhhhhhhh.

Andy Williams crooned "To dreeeeeeeeeam the im-poss-ible dreeeeeam".  And I swooned.

Mark has a favorite mountain. Who has a favorite mountain? Oh yeah. That would be Mark. It's Mount Nebo and it's right here in Utah.

According to Wikipedia:

Mount Nebo is the southernmost and highest mountain in the Wasatch Range of Utah, in the United States. Named after the biblical Mount Nebo overlooking Israel, which is said to be the place of Moses' death, it is the centerpiece of the Mount Nebo Wilderness, inside the Uinta National Forest. 

Mount Nebo is crowned by three peaks, with the northern peak reaching 11,928 ft (3,636m). Original surveys placed the southern peak as the highest at 11,877 ft (3,620m). When the mountain was resurveyed in the 1970s and the northern peak was found to be the highest, two substantial trails already led to the south summit. Parts of the mountain are covered in snow from mid-October until July. It is a popular destination for hikers from the nearby towns of Nephi and Provo, Utah. 

Mark passed his love for that mountain on to Goose. Hence, my grand puppy is named? Yep. You guessed it. Nebo.

Now the story begins. 

Mark has climbed Nebo. Several times. Goose has hiked Nebo. Several times. I had never hiked Nebo. Oh sure. I TALKED about it. I would set a time to do it. (The first weekend in July that Goose is home from firefighting.) Once again. Classic Linnette. ALL talk. NO action. Plan and plan and plan and then? Not go. 

Problem is, I wanted the WHOLE family to go. I wanted ALL my kids there. Schedules rarely collide as I would like them to, time passed and I found myself listening to stories about Mount Nebo and not knowing what the heck they were really talking about.

A couple of Sundays ago that changed. I have become an official memeber of the "I Hiked Nebo" club and I couldn't be happier.

I REALLY wanted my family to go. I especially wanted Goose to witness my epic moment, however, I knew that if I waited for Goose to make it home, I probably wouldn't make it this year and the way my walking is changing, I was unsure that there would be a "next year" for hiking. Therefore, Sunday morning found Mark, myself, Aunt Shannon and my nephew Devin embarking on our journey to the top of Mount Nebo.

I wasn't being totally honest. I acted like I could do it. I told everyone that would listen that I was doing it. BUT I kinda-sorta didn't think I could do it. Yeah, I talked the smack and planned like a champ but when "things" got in the way, I wasn't fighting to go. Not at all.

I worried that I would embarrass Mark. I played over and over and OVER in my head Gooses disappointment while saying "It's okay that you didn't make it too far Mom. You did good. It's a tough hike."

Oh man! Had I gotten in over my head?

All worries were in vain. I did it. I hiked and stumbled and swore and fretted and then...  I bawled. Sobbed is more like it.

We crossed landmarks that been described to me over and over through the years. It was NEARLY like "Oh! I know this place." But it was better. MUCH better.

I now understand why this mountain is Mark's favorite.

But this blog isn't about Mark. It isn't about Goose. It really isn't about Mount Nebo. OF COURSE it's about me.

I turned 49 this year. I can count on ONE hand how many times I have been genuinely proud of something I have accomplished. Few times have I felt the wonder of pushing myself beyond my capabilities. I hiked and hiked and tried to be brave. Shannon found me a hiking stick and that helped tremendously. I found a loop on Mark's backpack. When the going got rough or steep or the terrain got too rugged, I grabbed hold of the loop and held on while he maneuvered me through the obstacles.

And the words to the song "To dream, the impossible dream" played over and over in my head.

We were climbing the very last leg of the journey. For some reason Shannon and Devin had dropped behind for a second. Mark asked me how I was doing and I began bawling. You know. The racking, trembling sobs. I got out, in my broken voice "You tell Goose I did good. I mean it. You tell him."

Later that evening we were talking about the hike. I finally told Mark that I hadn't been so sure that I was capable of the hike any longer, but I was SO determined not to let him or Goose down. He quietly admitted that he didn't think I could make it either. I not only did something that I thought I couldn't do, but something that Mark doubted in me as well.

I will carry that experience with me for as long as I live.

I did it. I made Goose proud. Mark was proud. Most of all? I made myself proud.

I'm a lucky girl, right?

My Extraordinary Ordinary Life

Without a doubt, one of my most favorite things to do in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD is to go to the movies. It used to be that I went to the movie EVERY SINGLE Friday night. I saw good movies and I watched REALLY BAD movies. It didn't seem to matter. I enjoyed the LARGE tub of popcorn and the company of my gal pals. My movie attending extravaganza went on for years, however, time took it's toll. Friends moved or lost interest and I have found myself wishing every Friday night that I was at the local Cinemark but I'm usually at home in my jammies watching television.

Yesterday Mark took me to the theater and when we got home (not about to let go of our time together) I rummaged through my vast collection of DVD's and pulled out About Time starring Rachel McAdams and Domhnall Gleeson. 

I saw this movie in 2013 in the theaters. I don't know exactly what I expected when I went. I do like Rachel McAdams. I had geared up for a sappy, predictable love story that would be "good" but would leave no impression on me.

Wrong.

Again.

This movie has crept into my TOP-VERY-MOST-FAVORITE-MOVIES-IN-THE-HISTORY-OF-EVER list. I mean EVER.

We were watching this witty, heart-warming story last night. I went to bed thinking about it. I had dreams about it. Woke up this morning and decided to write about it.

The storyline is about time travel. When Tim (Domhnall Gleeson) turns 21 his father sits him down and informs him that the men in his family have the gift of time travel. His father, played REALLY WELL by Bill Nighy, asks him what he thinks he wants to accomplish with this gift. Tim throws out that he would probably want more money. After being told that money isn't the answer to life or happiness, Tim decides that he wants to use his gift to find love. REAL love.

Tim sets off on his adventure to find the love of his life (and does so brilliantly). Along the way he learns that his special ability can't shield him and those he loves from the problems of ordinary life.

Tim's dad watches from the sidelines as Tim repeats different scenarios to "better his position" in awkward moments. However, there comes a time when father sits son down to tell him the important stuff he has learned through a lifetime of time travel.

"And so he told me his secret formula for happiness. Part one of the two part plan was that I should just get on with ordinary life, living it day by day, like anyone else. 

But then came part two of Dad's plan. 

He told me to live every day again almost exactly the same. The first time with all the tensions and worries that stop us noticing how sweet the world can be, but the second time noticing."

And he did.

One of the songs playing in the background of the movies is Gold in Them Hills by Ron Sexsmith:

I know it doesn't seem that way
But maybe it's the perfect day
Even though the bills are piling
And maybe Lady Luck ain't smiling
But if we'd only open our eyes
We'd see the blessings in disguise
That all the rain clouds are fountains
Though our troubles seem like mountains

Every now and then life saysWhere do you think you're going so fast
We're apt to think it cruel but sometimes
It's a case of cruel to be kind
And if we'd get up off our knees
Why then we'd see the forest for the trees
And we'd see the new sun rising
Over the hills on the horizon

There's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose faith
Give the world a chance to say
A word or two, my friend
There's no telling how the day might end

What would I change if I could travel in time? What life event would never happen and what would be the cost?

I'm glad I did it the way I did. Nope. Hasn't been perfect. I have dodged dirt and mud. I have ripped and torn the hearts of those I love. I'm still learning and trying and at times - failing.

"And in the end I think I've learned the final lesson from my travels in time; and I've even gone one step further than my father did: The truth is now I don't travel back at all, not even for the day. I just try to live every day as if I've deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life."

The Most Biggest Day

I've had many, many, MANY days in my lifetime that have meant the world to me. Saturday the 16th of August became the biggest day of my life. Period.

A few months ago, Mark came to me and said that he wanted to put together "THE FIRST ANNUAL POOPY-SQUAWK-NO-JOCK-SLOP CHARITY MOTORCYCLE RIDE".  I've established that Mark calls me "Poop". I HAVEN'T clarified that Poop is short for "Poopy-Squawk-No-Jock-Slop". Don't ask me what that means. He just called me that one day and it stuck. Yeah. I'll thank him later.

So. We put together a charity ride in honor of me. Because I know many people that don't have motorcycles, I thought it might be good to do something that they could attend as well, so we put together a small lunch and gathered some DANG GOOD raffle prizes. The event planning began. Posters were made, a facebook page created, chili dogs ordered and raffle prizes gathered. I made really awesome t-shirts to represent the "First Annual OPCA Charity Ride".

I wish I could describe the experience. Provo bakery donated donuts, Fresh Market and Macey's helped with Orange Juice and t-shirts were at the ready for those that came to offer support. I wandered around my front yard. It was so important to me that I speak to every single person that showed.  Around 17 motorcycles gathered at my house. My cooler-than-ever cousin Lee drove his car with the bikes and one of my favorite people in the whole wide world, Brit, put her kids in her vehicle and brought up the rear of the pack.

I thought I was handling everything like a champ. I didn't bawl or weep. I felt a thrill every time a heard a bike coming down the road and shed some tears as people showed to offer support. But all in all I think I kept my emotions in check. Until...

10:30 arrived and it was time for the ride to start. Everyone was going around the Nebo Loop then gathering with the bike-less supporters at the East Bay Golf Course for chili dogs and the raffle. I had decided to stay behind and do some last minute setting up and to greet those that showed up to the luncheon before the bikes made it back. I stood in the driveway while the bikers loaded up, Lee got in his WOW car (and I do mean WOW) and Brit loaded the kids in her jeep.

Suddenly bikes roared to life. The rumble filled the streets and I lost it. I mean LOST it. I cried like a little school girl. I watched as motorcycles loaded with do-rag wearing, sunglass sporting friends and family rolled out of my yard wearing a t-shirt to represent ME. Yep. Me.

1:30 rolled around and those that were gathering at the course began strolling in. We filled the "party room" with laughter and talk. The raffle began and we all cheered loudly at the prize-winning. My gaze fell on each table and I witnessed the smiles and the laughter. I was watching the festivities when it hit me. Hard.

A chill started in the top of my head, traveled along my spine and landed in my feet. I began trembling with emotion. That room was filled to the brim with people who love me. ME.

A few days before the ride, I was sitting at the golf course chatting with Mark. He had asked me if I was ready for the ride. I have been overwhelmed with the support offered to me and (as usual) I became emotional and with tears streaming down my face I said "Maybe I'm the lucky one." MAYBE instead of feeling bad about this stupid disease I need to turn it around and be grateful. How many of you are able to witness love and support in such a personalized setting? I did. So many people went out of their way to share a story with me about how I have touched their lives. I groaned when they opened the conversation with "Do you know my first memory of you?" I've been known to smack some of the kids upside the head (especially friends of my boys when they were younger). I'm always caught off guard with that opening statement. We laughed and talked and shared and cried and remembered.

And I was grateful for the stories.

I think about my future. I used to believe that I will eventually be able to repay human kindness and generosity shown for my benefit.

This last week has taught me that I probably won't.

I ran across a quote from Elizabeth Gilbert. She said:

"In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in the world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices."

So....

THANK YOU.