by jphilo | Oct 10, 2014 | Different Dream for My Child, Vlog Series
The Different Dream vlog series is back with another Friday edition. Today’s devotional, Scrubbing In, comes from the hospital section of A Different Dream for My Child:Meditations for Parents or Critically or Chronically Ill Children. It’s about one of those maturing moments that are part and parcel of becoming the parent of a child with special needs, a maturing moment that changed the way I view hospital protocols and what I had to do to become the mother our son needed. No tissue warning with this one, though you may develop a hand washing compulsion if you watch it too often!
To see this vlog, click on this link.
Photo Credit: Jack Thumm at www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Aug 5, 2013 | Family
57 is the new 30. I have that on good authority. That is, if you consider Hallmark Cards to be a good authority. Which I certainly do. Because my husband gave me a Hallmark Cardon my 57th birthday a week ago, and it said the following:
Thirty
in great big letters. And I mean great big.
Inside it said:
Thirty is an attitude.
It says you know what
you’re doing and you’ve
got what it takes to get
where you’re going.
Welcome to prime time!
The man of steel added the words “Happy Birthday” and signed his name.
Well, boy howdy, that card made my day! If thirty is an attitude, then here’s my attitude:
57 is the new 30, and I’ve got 30 covered for at least 30 more years.
I didn’t expect any birthday card to top that one. Especially not one from Mom. Mainly because I’m the one who takes her shopping for cards for kids and grandkids. Depending how energetic she feels, which is usually not at all, she puts little or very little thought into choosing meaningful cards. On higher energy days she chooses cards big on puns and cartoon drawings. On low energy days, she grabs any old card and heads to the register. So I really wasn’t expecting much from her card.
Until I opened it and studied the stylized drawing of flowers and a bird, then opened it and read these words:
Daughter…
When you were young,
you’d get a little scuffed up.
And it was hard to let you
experience the parts of life
I wished I could just love away.
But you were even stronger than I knew.
Soon I was kissing fewer boo-boos,
wiping fewer tears.
And before I knew it,
you’d grown a thick layer of
“mama, I’m gonna be fine.”
And you were.
And you are.
Happy Birthday
She signed the card “Love, Mom” with handwriting significantly shakier than just a year ago.
Now, here’s the deal.
If she chose the card on a low energy day, I just happened to win the pull-the-card-from-the-closest slot lottery. But if she chose it on a higher energy day, perhaps the sentiments resonated with her and she chose it on person. I choose to believe in the second scenario.
Because I am the woman with the 57-is-the-new-30 attitude.
And women that young still cry when their moms give them a card that touches the heart.
At least, this 30-year-old does.
Photo credit: www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Nov 23, 2009 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
November is not Iowa’s best month.
Maybe that’s why our small state has never been a destination location in late fall, except for the fourth Thursday of the month when people come back in droves for an indoor frenzy of food and football. Considering Iowa’s landscape this time of year, who can blame our inhabitants and visitors for eating themselves into a stupor and yelling at a bunch of goofy guys in helmets running around on TV?
True, the temperatures have been mild for November and the winds calm. But the cloudy gray skies, the bare, gray tree limbs, and the feeble, ineffective hours of daylight make for poor eye candy during my daily walks. In fact the scenery is so glum, it takes all the discipline I can muster and an Evelyn Lundberg Counseling Agency pep talk to force me out the door.
This past Saturday was no exception. In addition to the normal gloom, a thick fog settled over our area. No need to become road kill this close to the holidays, I thought, and delayed my walk until mid-morning. Even then, the mist hadn’t completely dissipated. Everything around me was gray and shades of gray, at ten in the morning no less.
And then I walked behind our community college. The campus was quiet and empty for the weekend, except for a row of wet and shivering crab apple trees between the parking lot and the buildings. The naked branches were loaded with fruit, crying as the blanket of fog lifted and left them exposed and red and lovely.
What other beauty is hidden in the fog, beauty I miss by concentrating on dreariness and gloom? What bright colors have I missed, driven indoors by gray skies and weak sun?
Instead of waiting for the fog to lift, perhaps I should walk into it and find joy in unexpected places, in every season of the year.
by jphilo | Oct 23, 2009 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
This morning, as I slogged down our gravel road, I could only think of one word to describe the weather on my first full day back in Iowa.
Mushy.
The road was mushy, pot-holed and slippery, unable to absorb all the rain we’ve received. Lawns were strewn with a mushy, sodden carpet of leaves.
The muscles in my legs were mushy, out of shape and useless as I climbed the steep hill beyond the bridge.
The damp in the air made my clothes so mushy and heavy they clung to me, smothering my skin.
My mind felt mushy, overwhelmed by the piles of bills, an overflowing email inbox, thank you notes to write, and books to send after my walk was over.
Then the cold wind, egged along by all I need to do in too little time, pushed against my heart and I wanted to go home and crawl back in bed instead of tackling the demands of today, my spirits turned mushy, too.
Mushy and mopey, I walked by a burning bush, brilliant in spite of the gloom and flanked by a yellow maple tree bright as the sun. The day was as mushy as ever, but glowing colors warmed me. They burned off the gloom, and evaporated the dampness in my heart. I walked home, full of purpose. My mind was sharp with red and yellow foliage, challenged by its brilliant refusal to surrender to the mushiness of this gloomy, cold October.
Time to get to work.
by jphilo | Oct 13, 2009 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
Winter arrived abruptly this year. With the turn of the calendar page, Iowa went from a dry, warm September to a chilly, damp October. Speaking on behalf of the residents of our state, along with the flora and the fauna, I can tell you we’re still shivering with shock. Hopefully, an ambulance will arrive soon, and the EMTs will wrap us in blankets and elevate our heads until we can get to the hospital for an IV packed with mild autumn days and crisp, cool (but not frigid) nights.
This business of going straight from summer with winter has given me a wistful appreciation for fall. I’m longing for hayrides, picking out pumpkins at a pumpkin patch, the fall colors, rolling around in the crisp softness of piles of newly raked leaves. Instead, the days are full of rain and wind, the nights end with hard frosts and a skim of ice on the rain barrel.
The critters aren’t handling this abrupt winter very well either. In fact, sometime yesterday, after the farmer down the road harvested his corn, Mickey and Minnie winterized their summer cabin, battened their boat in the dock, packed their bags and headed for their favorite winter digs in my car. We’re evicting the squatters even as I speak, using as much violence as necessary, even though I sympathize with their discombobulation.
Near the garage, which the mice have dubbed “the Philo Marriott,” one rose bush refuses to bow to the inevitable. This morning, heavy frost covered it’s last, brave rose bud. I was sure it would turn black when the sun hit. But this afternoon, the flower waved its petals, bright and pink, when I went to get the mail.
Suddenly, I wanted to knit a tiny stocking cap for the courageous little thing, rig up my blow dryer as a heater. Something, anything to thank little Rose for bringing a touch of summer courage into my frosty soul.
But don’t think I’m getting to be an old softy. Mickey and Minnie are still out on their ears…unless you’d like them to live at your house.
