Tie Dye Speak and Other Odd Susan Languages

 
My family knows it's best to communicate with me after I've sipped morning coffee. While there are days I wake without need of a caffeine surge, more often my words blur until the warm substance has awakened my soul. 

I like to think, as a writer, that I spend the rest of my day communicating with ease. But recent interaction with the men in my home has proved otherwise. 

Nathan and I sat at opposite ends of our kitchen table a few weeks ago while I spoke on the phone with Sam, working out scheduling issues.  Nathan told me to tell Sam something (I don't remember what) and I made my best attempt. He immediately replied, "That's not what  I said, Mother!"

Confused, I offered, "That's pretty much what you said."

Sam spoke in my ear, "Tell him I know what he means. I know what he said."

Again, I served as interpreter and immediately the voice in my ear responded, "That's not what I said, momma."

Quite stressed at this point, I encouraged the two of them to get on the phone together because I was obviously failing as the go between. 

When Nathan and I discussed the matter further, I found myself explaining, "It's like the two of you speak blue and I speak pink and green." Later on however, I realized they speak more black and white... while I speak tie dye. 

I don't mean to do it. I don't intend to twist their words, dunk them in color, and spew them out differently than they entered my brain. 

It happens quite naturally.  

And as I was coming to terms with my new language derivation, my brother called me two days ago and barked, "Is it true that you leave voice messages for Lily (my parents King Charles Cavalier) when mom and dad aren't home?"

"Well... sometimes. I don't want her to forget me."

"Mom says Lily listens to the messages," he continued, "But I don't believe it. She doesn't do that for anyone else. So do it now. You're on speaker. I want to see if she really pays attention to your voice."

I agreed to the challenge and indeed, when Lily heard my voice, she started looking for me.

 

Lily watching dog videos with me post surgery - notice the boot!

"Mark, don't you understand," I offered, "I speak dog. I took a class my senior year at Vandy."

OK... so that part's not true. But my dad believed it (for a few seconds last spring) when I offered the explanation as the reason why Lily barks so much when she sees me. The truth is, she likes me because I play light games with her. But when my sister threatened to blackmail me if I didn't own up, I finally let dad know his dog loves me because I do the forbidden. I add to her shadow neurosis by letting her run after lights.

So between my slightly British, Mary Poppins persona, my Lily love, and the colorful, tie-dye way I interpret what people say, I'll continue my life as a writer. 

There's got to be something good about tie-dye speak. Even if my boys are still trying to figure that out!

photo credit: KeliaStar via photopin cc

5

A Walker for the Waves

After days without creamer, I left my unit in Sandestin last week in search of coffee condiments. I traversed the concrete hallway certain my mother wouldn't let me down. 

I was wrong.

But while I sipped charcoal coffee in my parents beach abode, I found myself engaged in a rather lengthy conversation with my nephews, Trey and Drew - in a British accent.

I'm not sure why I impersonate Mary Poppins on occasion. Perhaps I just get bored being me. Thus imagining I'm the umbrella clad nanny who speaks her mind with resolute calm and preciseness allows for an alter ego that empowers my mito challenged body. 

Ask my voice and piano students. They may have an answer.

Regardless, thirty minutes of British conversation made up for the lack of creamer that morning. I don't remember what we talked about but Bert and Michael (aka. Trey and Drew) recharged my beach weary soul more than coffee that day.

And later, when I made it to the beach after sun scorching hours, I stared at the waves for a long while.

The cousins had entered the surf and as an avid fan of ocean derring-do, I longed to join them. While heading to the breakers unassisted was not an option, it suddenly occurred to me that I could use the walker that helped me navigate the soft sand.

I don't use a walker at home much these days, but I learned years ago that a short walk on the beach can wear out my ankles and right leg faster than anything else. As I pondered our upcoming trip a few weeks ago, it dawned on me that I could use my least favorite, grey walker to make it to the ocean's edge with greater ease.

And it worked wonderfully!

But I got bored sitting in the chair. And felt myself come alive when I considered a romp in the waves with my walker. Don wasn't able to join us this year, so Nathan stood point guard and kept me and my walker from swirling with the surf.

We made it to a sand bar where the essence of Susan surged through me in the deepest life giving way.

A young girl looked my way and said, "Your sunglasses might fall off!" 

"That's OK," I replied, knowing we were far more concerned about my joints than my sunglasses. 

Nathan finally offered, "Mom, don't you think you should go in now?"

"You know I never want a party to end."

With his gentle nudge, however, we started our retreat. Back on the beach, I sat in the sand as bubbly water rocked me to and fro. 

When I stood about thirty minutes later, I realized red flags flew, warning of rough surf. So not only had I conquered the waves, I'd stood firm (with help) in red flag tides. 

The memory still makes me smile in deep triumph. And reminds me that we need to wash off that walker so it won't rust before our next journey to the beach. 

Because sometimes it's just the little things - like nonsense talk over coffee and a walk in the waves with a walker - that make all the difference in the world.

3

How Heaven Became Real (pt. 4) - Nathan and the Pink Choo-Choo's

Flower Toy Train Mug

You may not have been aware, but when I sipped a cup of wake-up-Joe a few days ago, my cool factor had increased exponentially. We're talking... exponentially!!

Why? Because I saw Austin Mahone in concert this week. For real.

My dear friend, Debi, continues to wait for her healing as liver and lung cancer ravage her body. Ever radiant, she defies the pain causing illness that often leaves her breathless. To pass the time about a month ago, her daughters spent a day determined to win tickets from a radio station to the post Brave's Game concert last week.

And they succeeded!

Their dad bought two tickets not far from their seats, but had to give them up as the day approached. So Nathan and I got to chaperone Olivia and Makayla and experience a screaming crowd of middle and high school girls at peak volume.

Flashing lights. Shrieking teens. Rockin' music. Just what the doctor ordered -an unexpected win during a difficult time.

It reminded of another favorite God moment during the summer of the angel and Jason's decline...

Knowing we wanted a second child soon after Nathan, we painted his room a neutral color in case the nursery was shared by a little girl. God sent us Samuel instead.

By the time that hard summer rolled around, the boys were three and four and the mint green walls with teddy bears beckoned for change.  As avid train lovers, it wasn't hard to pick a new theme. But what stumped me most was Nathans insistence that the new decor include, "Red, blue, green, yellow, and... pink choo-choo's."

Pink choo-choo's? Seriously?

Not long after, however, Nathan and I passed a garage sale sign as we drove home from an outing. A quiet nudge stirred my soul. I ignored it for a quarter mile due to the fact I dislike combing through garage sales. But the feeling persisted.

I gave in, turned the car around, and pulled into the designated neighborhood. I drove a short distance and found myself following a car whose passenger got out every few feet and pulled up the signs that led to the sale.

We arrived at the cluttered driveway as a middle aged woman was putting things away. Looking lost, she finally approached me and asked, "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"I'm not sure. But do you have any comforter sets for boys?" I asked.

"Sure. Come back here."

She led me to the back of her garage where she pulled out a white comforter covered in red, blue, green, yellow, and... pink choo-choo's. The mother of an only child even had two bed covers because her son had switched from a twin to a double bed. The two spreads were a perfect fit for our top twin and bottom full combination metal bed frame.

I about cried as I gushed over the answered prayer. The set included wall border, numerous throw pillows, shams, a wall hanging, and the comforters - all for just $35.00.

Low on money, we were thrilled to have redecorated their room for $35 plus the cost of paint.

Days of decline were still to come, but that bedroom served as one more reminder that God was with us in the battle. For hope invaded our suffering again and hung on the walls of my boys room for many years. 

"God is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34: 18)

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