Saturday, December 24, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Frankincense & Myrrh
Frankincense and Myrrh
R. Brabham
I purchased a few droppers of Frankincense last year to make my Christmas soap. It is costly and still as precious today as it was thousands of years ago when it was considered worthy only to the most elite, an iconic symbol of wealth, traded over thousands of miles. Can you just imagine frankincense filled urns in the cooled stone treasury rooms of Solomon's castle? I used all of the contents in the soap I made,but couldn't make myself part with the bottle. I pull the cork stopper out and take a whiff occasionally. It transports to a time that I have only read of. The crispness in the air this morning makes me think of pulling out supplies to get ready for my annual pleasure of making soap. I remember the first time I made the Christmas soap and I was excited to go purchase the first bottle of Frankincense for the blend. I browsed through an authentic herb shop that resembled an old scientific research lab. Shelves are lined with glass apothecary jars filled with oils and dried herbs or (urps) as my grand- babies like to call them. I pulled down the dark brown bottle of Frankincense and pulled the cork,fully expecting a aroma so sweet it would transcend me. I sniffed strongly and jerked away. It was heady, but not in the floral noted sweetness imagined. I was surprised, but went back for a softer pass under my nose. It has a beckoning note to it. One that keeps drawing you back. The oil was dispensed by the ounce, so I brought the large bottle to the clerk and told her that I wanted 4 ounces. When she rang up the oil I was startled, she laughed when she saw my face. I had not looked at the price on the bottle. It was somewhere around 32 dollars and ounce and rang up for about $120.00. She understandably felt my pain and poured the Frankincense back in the jar except for about 2 dropperfuls in a 1 ounce jar. She explained that the undertones were heady and are usually mixed with other scents. I had a wide range of other essential oils at home and decided to experiment with the Christmas scent.
Back to this morning. Pulling the stopper out of the bottle again, I am still perplexed. Why was this one of the most revered oils? A couple of thousand years ago, Magi, highly intelligent men gathered their gifts for the king and stuffed their camel sacks. Frankincense and Myrrh? The Frankincense smelled wonderful in my soap, but it was mixed with other sweet oils to produce a aroma that was pleasing. By itself, it was pungent. There were thousands of other oils as precious that the Magi could have chosen. Google gave me the 1 million answers to it's healing properties and uses. But one stood out. It is one I choose to believe would make it a special gift for the baby Jesus. As sure as the Magi knew that he would be born on this night and where, they knew the future of our Savior. He was to die. This is a description of how the oil is obtained.. The Frankincense tree originates from the Middle East and is small with abundant pinnacle leaves. The flowers are white or pale pink. Frankincense resin begins as a milky-white sticky liquid that flows from the trunk of the tree when it's cut, healing the wound in the tree. The oil is luxuriant and has a rich woody, earthy scent with a deeply mysterious nuance. I can't help but think of the aroma of Jesus on his believers. Historically, Frankincense resin, or teardrops as they were called, were burned over coals which made the aroma sweeter. Couldn’t this symbolize a person's heart? Scourged in the refiners pot, it becomes an aroma that is pleasant to the Lord.
Myrrh, like Frankincense, is produced by the tree as a reaction to a purposeful wound through the bark and into the sapwood. The trees are bled in this way on a regular basis. The Greeks began using myrrh to replace living sacrifices in the 3rd century AD. Again, I think of the Magi...Baby Jesus was born to bear the iniquities of our sins. Banishing the Law and replacing it with Grace.
Gold...The Magi brought the most precious of metals on camels backs in unison with the oils above. Psalms 19 vs 10 ~The words of God are more desirable than gold, yes, than much fine gold, sweeter also than honey and the drippings of the honeycomb."
This is more precious than any other thing. More to be desired than the best gold, anything the world has to offer is the idea here. It is more precious than the best commodity the world has to offer. It is sweeter than the sweetest thing that life can bring. It is the best. That is his gift to us as well.
When we pick out a gift for the ones we love. We try to find something that would suit the wants and needs and wishes of the recipient. Knowing from prophesy that this sweet baby would accept no gift that he couldn't give away. We could believe that they gave him the gifts that he would give us.
R. Brabham
I purchased a few droppers of Frankincense last year to make my Christmas soap. It is costly and still as precious today as it was thousands of years ago when it was considered worthy only to the most elite, an iconic symbol of wealth, traded over thousands of miles. Can you just imagine frankincense filled urns in the cooled stone treasury rooms of Solomon's castle? I used all of the contents in the soap I made,but couldn't make myself part with the bottle. I pull the cork stopper out and take a whiff occasionally. It transports to a time that I have only read of. The crispness in the air this morning makes me think of pulling out supplies to get ready for my annual pleasure of making soap. I remember the first time I made the Christmas soap and I was excited to go purchase the first bottle of Frankincense for the blend. I browsed through an authentic herb shop that resembled an old scientific research lab. Shelves are lined with glass apothecary jars filled with oils and dried herbs or (urps) as my grand- babies like to call them. I pulled down the dark brown bottle of Frankincense and pulled the cork,fully expecting a aroma so sweet it would transcend me. I sniffed strongly and jerked away. It was heady, but not in the floral noted sweetness imagined. I was surprised, but went back for a softer pass under my nose. It has a beckoning note to it. One that keeps drawing you back. The oil was dispensed by the ounce, so I brought the large bottle to the clerk and told her that I wanted 4 ounces. When she rang up the oil I was startled, she laughed when she saw my face. I had not looked at the price on the bottle. It was somewhere around 32 dollars and ounce and rang up for about $120.00. She understandably felt my pain and poured the Frankincense back in the jar except for about 2 dropperfuls in a 1 ounce jar. She explained that the undertones were heady and are usually mixed with other scents. I had a wide range of other essential oils at home and decided to experiment with the Christmas scent.
Back to this morning. Pulling the stopper out of the bottle again, I am still perplexed. Why was this one of the most revered oils? A couple of thousand years ago, Magi, highly intelligent men gathered their gifts for the king and stuffed their camel sacks. Frankincense and Myrrh? The Frankincense smelled wonderful in my soap, but it was mixed with other sweet oils to produce a aroma that was pleasing. By itself, it was pungent. There were thousands of other oils as precious that the Magi could have chosen. Google gave me the 1 million answers to it's healing properties and uses. But one stood out. It is one I choose to believe would make it a special gift for the baby Jesus. As sure as the Magi knew that he would be born on this night and where, they knew the future of our Savior. He was to die. This is a description of how the oil is obtained.. The Frankincense tree originates from the Middle East and is small with abundant pinnacle leaves. The flowers are white or pale pink. Frankincense resin begins as a milky-white sticky liquid that flows from the trunk of the tree when it's cut, healing the wound in the tree. The oil is luxuriant and has a rich woody, earthy scent with a deeply mysterious nuance. I can't help but think of the aroma of Jesus on his believers. Historically, Frankincense resin, or teardrops as they were called, were burned over coals which made the aroma sweeter. Couldn’t this symbolize a person's heart? Scourged in the refiners pot, it becomes an aroma that is pleasant to the Lord.
Myrrh, like Frankincense, is produced by the tree as a reaction to a purposeful wound through the bark and into the sapwood. The trees are bled in this way on a regular basis. The Greeks began using myrrh to replace living sacrifices in the 3rd century AD. Again, I think of the Magi...Baby Jesus was born to bear the iniquities of our sins. Banishing the Law and replacing it with Grace.
Gold...The Magi brought the most precious of metals on camels backs in unison with the oils above. Psalms 19 vs 10 ~The words of God are more desirable than gold, yes, than much fine gold, sweeter also than honey and the drippings of the honeycomb."
This is more precious than any other thing. More to be desired than the best gold, anything the world has to offer is the idea here. It is more precious than the best commodity the world has to offer. It is sweeter than the sweetest thing that life can bring. It is the best. That is his gift to us as well.
When we pick out a gift for the ones we love. We try to find something that would suit the wants and needs and wishes of the recipient. Knowing from prophesy that this sweet baby would accept no gift that he couldn't give away. We could believe that they gave him the gifts that he would give us.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Becca's Christmas Cards
Becca's? Christmas Cards A True Blessing For Me
Renae Brabham
I have been sorrowed this morning that I could not remember two things about this story that I thought were important. However, God has chosen not to re-reveal them to my memory and his way is better than mine. I had this true story saved on a computer that crashed recently. The information was not retrievable on it either. Go figure.
Christmas Season 2008. This year had been the worst year for our business economically since we started. I was cutting corners every way that I knew how. If it wasn't absolutely necessary, it wasn't coming into the house. It was a Saturday morning. Crisp and cool, a perfect day to pull out those holiday scarves and sweaters. It was a grocery shopping and errand day. I knew that the list I had in front of me didn't call for any celebratory clothing. Just the basics here. Except for the Christmas Cards. I normally buy these at Wal Mart or Sams anyway, but I enjoy looking for the right cards. Well, I knew the good cards were going to be over my budget, even at Wal Mart this year. But, I was still going to find something to send out and that was all that mattered.
I was held up it seemed all morning. A delay in walking out the door everywhere I turned. I was to the point of almost deciding to do this another day. I finally made it into car with my list. I was enjoying the ride. Christmas music playing, I was singing along. I drove right past Wal Mart,hmmmm. A thought popped into my head. Let's go to Hallmark and get our Christmas cards. Where in the world did that come from I thought. Drove past Sam's Club too,hmmmm. Another thought, well it won't hurt to look at the pretty cards. Pulled up to Hallmark's. I go into the store that is filled with women in Christmas sweaters and hats and scarves, Christmas music playing. Well this is festive, I thought. The boxed card aisle is full of people and cards. I am looking at the cards and flipping them over to gasp at the prices. Putting them back on the shelf with a nod of indifference that I hoped was telling others that it wasn't the price, but the wrong verse that made me put it back.
I noticed a lady at the end of the aisle fumbling with one hand to turn over a box and look at the verse. Others were standing by her and she continued box after box. I had worked my way closer to her. She was trying to retrieve one in the back and struggling as she appeared to have use of only one arm. I reached down and handed it to her. The next 15 minutes or so started with the illumination of her joyful face. I can't even type this a year later without getting emotional. She absolutely radiated joy. She was as colorful as any character in a Dr. Seuss book. Lime green and yellow scarf, a multi colored sweater hat, bright coat, bell earrings. She thanked me and told me still smiling that she had lost the use of her arm due to a brain tumor. I asked her if there was anything I could help her look for. She told me that she was looking for the most beautiful cards she could find with a Christian verse about joy. She wanted them to have Gold on them though and not the silver that was so popular last year. I plowed through them as we talked. She told me that she didn't have much money this year, but it was the best Christmas season she has ever had and wanted to find the best cards that she could to give to the special people in her life. She was still positively glowing. She told me that she had found two of the greatest loves of her life that year. Jesus and a man that loved her dearly. She told me she woke up with a smile every single morning. She had been married to a abusive man that didn't love her for years but was devastated when he walked out on her. She had stuck with him and now he was leaving. She said it was at this time she started having headaches. She passed them off as stress for a long time and then her vision was suffering. Test concluded she had a very large tumor on her brain. They performed surgery and she lost some vision in one eye and the use of her left arm. I told her how wonderful it was that they were able to get it out. We continued talking as she told me of her new loves. She said that God knew what she needed in her life and he sent this wonderful man to her. She said she can see the love in his eyes every time he looks at her. By this time, all of the music and colorful sweaters and business of the holiday crowd subsided into the past. I was enamored by her and there wasn't another soul in this busy store. She talked of her kids and then we got to our plans for Christmas. I told her mine and she told me hers. Same exuberance as before, no change in mood or expression. She says "I may be with Jesus, the tumor has returned and is inoperable." My eyes filled with tears and she stopped me and took me, a complete stranger by the shoulders in this store and turned me to her and said. "Don't be upset, I am the happiest I have ever been in my life and I will be happier yet when I am gone." She turned back to the cards and again said that she just wanted to find the best Christmas Cards that she could for those people so dear to her.
We found those cards. They WERE the most beautiful cards. There were 3 boxes. She said she only needed two. I went to put the other box back, couldn't do it. I too had some special people to share with. We hugged, both knowing that we would never see each other again. But, Becca left me with these true gifts of Christmas last year. God's love will sustain. Be happy with what you have. Share yourself with others. Love each other. I adjusted the grocery list for that box of cards. There were two things I told you at the beginning of the story that I couldn't remember this morning. I beat myself up over this all morning. I couldn't remember her name, I couldn't remember the cards! I know
now that it doesn't matter. She is god and the message is his love. Every Christmas since I met Becca that Saturday morning, I have thanked God for that blessing. I don't ever want to forget her spirit, her thankfulness and her joy at Christmas.
I have shared this story for three years now. My heart is full every year when I think of her. This year, I realized that we can do more with the story than share. This beautiful stranger lifted my heart that day with her Christmas Card Blessing. I hope the recipients of those special cards felt the love she was conveying to them through it. There is someone in our very community right now who could use a blessing. If you would like to share a blessing with a neighbor in need. Please drop a card in this box. You can remain anonymous, or not. You can place a monetary gift or not. I don't have much money, but I believe with all my heart that the little blessing that all of us can do will be sufficient for the needs of that person. Merry Christmas!!
Renae Brabham
I have been sorrowed this morning that I could not remember two things about this story that I thought were important. However, God has chosen not to re-reveal them to my memory and his way is better than mine. I had this true story saved on a computer that crashed recently. The information was not retrievable on it either. Go figure.
Christmas Season 2008. This year had been the worst year for our business economically since we started. I was cutting corners every way that I knew how. If it wasn't absolutely necessary, it wasn't coming into the house. It was a Saturday morning. Crisp and cool, a perfect day to pull out those holiday scarves and sweaters. It was a grocery shopping and errand day. I knew that the list I had in front of me didn't call for any celebratory clothing. Just the basics here. Except for the Christmas Cards. I normally buy these at Wal Mart or Sams anyway, but I enjoy looking for the right cards. Well, I knew the good cards were going to be over my budget, even at Wal Mart this year. But, I was still going to find something to send out and that was all that mattered.
I was held up it seemed all morning. A delay in walking out the door everywhere I turned. I was to the point of almost deciding to do this another day. I finally made it into car with my list. I was enjoying the ride. Christmas music playing, I was singing along. I drove right past Wal Mart,hmmmm. A thought popped into my head. Let's go to Hallmark and get our Christmas cards. Where in the world did that come from I thought. Drove past Sam's Club too,hmmmm. Another thought, well it won't hurt to look at the pretty cards. Pulled up to Hallmark's. I go into the store that is filled with women in Christmas sweaters and hats and scarves, Christmas music playing. Well this is festive, I thought. The boxed card aisle is full of people and cards. I am looking at the cards and flipping them over to gasp at the prices. Putting them back on the shelf with a nod of indifference that I hoped was telling others that it wasn't the price, but the wrong verse that made me put it back.
I noticed a lady at the end of the aisle fumbling with one hand to turn over a box and look at the verse. Others were standing by her and she continued box after box. I had worked my way closer to her. She was trying to retrieve one in the back and struggling as she appeared to have use of only one arm. I reached down and handed it to her. The next 15 minutes or so started with the illumination of her joyful face. I can't even type this a year later without getting emotional. She absolutely radiated joy. She was as colorful as any character in a Dr. Seuss book. Lime green and yellow scarf, a multi colored sweater hat, bright coat, bell earrings. She thanked me and told me still smiling that she had lost the use of her arm due to a brain tumor. I asked her if there was anything I could help her look for. She told me that she was looking for the most beautiful cards she could find with a Christian verse about joy. She wanted them to have Gold on them though and not the silver that was so popular last year. I plowed through them as we talked. She told me that she didn't have much money this year, but it was the best Christmas season she has ever had and wanted to find the best cards that she could to give to the special people in her life. She was still positively glowing. She told me that she had found two of the greatest loves of her life that year. Jesus and a man that loved her dearly. She told me she woke up with a smile every single morning. She had been married to a abusive man that didn't love her for years but was devastated when he walked out on her. She had stuck with him and now he was leaving. She said it was at this time she started having headaches. She passed them off as stress for a long time and then her vision was suffering. Test concluded she had a very large tumor on her brain. They performed surgery and she lost some vision in one eye and the use of her left arm. I told her how wonderful it was that they were able to get it out. We continued talking as she told me of her new loves. She said that God knew what she needed in her life and he sent this wonderful man to her. She said she can see the love in his eyes every time he looks at her. By this time, all of the music and colorful sweaters and business of the holiday crowd subsided into the past. I was enamored by her and there wasn't another soul in this busy store. She talked of her kids and then we got to our plans for Christmas. I told her mine and she told me hers. Same exuberance as before, no change in mood or expression. She says "I may be with Jesus, the tumor has returned and is inoperable." My eyes filled with tears and she stopped me and took me, a complete stranger by the shoulders in this store and turned me to her and said. "Don't be upset, I am the happiest I have ever been in my life and I will be happier yet when I am gone." She turned back to the cards and again said that she just wanted to find the best Christmas Cards that she could for those people so dear to her.
We found those cards. They WERE the most beautiful cards. There were 3 boxes. She said she only needed two. I went to put the other box back, couldn't do it. I too had some special people to share with. We hugged, both knowing that we would never see each other again. But, Becca left me with these true gifts of Christmas last year. God's love will sustain. Be happy with what you have. Share yourself with others. Love each other. I adjusted the grocery list for that box of cards. There were two things I told you at the beginning of the story that I couldn't remember this morning. I beat myself up over this all morning. I couldn't remember her name, I couldn't remember the cards! I know
now that it doesn't matter. She is god and the message is his love. Every Christmas since I met Becca that Saturday morning, I have thanked God for that blessing. I don't ever want to forget her spirit, her thankfulness and her joy at Christmas.
I have shared this story for three years now. My heart is full every year when I think of her. This year, I realized that we can do more with the story than share. This beautiful stranger lifted my heart that day with her Christmas Card Blessing. I hope the recipients of those special cards felt the love she was conveying to them through it. There is someone in our very community right now who could use a blessing. If you would like to share a blessing with a neighbor in need. Please drop a card in this box. You can remain anonymous, or not. You can place a monetary gift or not. I don't have much money, but I believe with all my heart that the little blessing that all of us can do will be sufficient for the needs of that person. Merry Christmas!!
Monday, December 5, 2011
The French Grinch
The French Grinch,transplanted from Buffalo, NY by almighty God, taught me a lot
about unselfish giving in an unorthodox way. I met him when I moved to NC. I walked up to his restaurant as he was awkwardly sliding down the roof onto a ladder. There were no cars in the parking lot and it was midday. I wait at the bottom of the roof for him, thinking that he must be coming down to help me. "Can I help you?" he ask. "I was just coming to get an application. " I answer. "Well, I don't have them out here, go in and ask Kathy." he says as he walks off, grumbling at my obvious stupidity that he would have an application outside. I fill out the application, he hires me and thus started a friendship that has lasted for 25 years.
Fair, honest, funny the year round. Then comes November. Around Thanksgiving, he begins to turn green. Every day following Thanksgiving started with ~You better don't do a thing for me this Christmas or I'll....~ The threats changed in intensity the closer we got to the Christmas party. We all loved him dearly, but he wouldn't let us do a single thing for him. Ever!
The first couple of years for Christmas, he cooked a nice dinner for us at the restaurant. We brought our spouses and enjoyed time with co-workers. He would bring out the food, speak to everyone, wish them a Merry Christmas and then disappear into the kitchen, refusing help with dishes. If too many people came back to the kitchen to offer, he would holler "This is the last time I am throwing this damn Christmas party!" and we would all scurry back into the dining area.
The next Christmas, we all chipped in to purchase a nice big fruit basket. We delivered it to his home. Bad move. When we arrived at the Christmas party, he was banging things around loudly in the kitchen. We could hear him chopping ferociously on his butcher block. He served our wonderful meal and then he came out with our gifts. He passed out the Budweiser collectible porcelain steins.Smug satisfaction curled his lips into the grinch smile as we stuck our hands in to retrieve the Christmas bonus envelopes. Our hands jerked out of the steins, surprised to find the wet chopped fruit that had been delivered to his home. He obviously ran out of fruit to fill them all and chopped potatoes to add volume.
The restaurant grew in popularity and became the Mecca for locals 3 counties wide. The Christmas party's outgrew the dining area. He would reserve dining rooms at nice restaurants around town. As the meal commenced you could see his joy tend to turn to unrest. He didn't want a bunch of employees to start thanking him. After he knew everyone had eaten and consumed a sufficient amount of beverage, he would pay the bill and exit.
The Christmas gatherings grew fewer,but the group of people who have been with him for years have gathered every December since at a restaurant to celebrate our friendship. Each year as we pull in and give hugs with arms full of goody baskets, he threatens "There better not be a thing in there for me" We all promise there isn't. One year my friend gets back to the office and puts some of the candy we shared in a gift bag on his desk. She heard him minutes later "Who gave me this?" he yells.
I watch him. He takes care of the people around him. They are loyal to him. He always has a less fortunate person in his life. He seeks and finds people in need and does for them. Feeds them, takes them to appointments, befriends them. We have long since given up on giving him a card or gift for any occasion. One year, I popped in at the restaurant on a day that no one was supposed to be at work. There was a truck filled with bicycles at the back door. He saw my look of surprise but gave me the look of silence or else. Another year, a freezer full of turkeys, Meals on Wheels, Helping people with learning disabilities....These are just the few that I know by chance. The years rolled by as I watched him affect the lives of those around him humbly. I saw right through the French Grinch's green hairy fur. Beneath all the fur was a slobbery, wet, love dripping heart.
He taught me the true meaning of these verses. In Matthew 6:1-4 ( NIV version ) "Be careful not to do your "acts of righteousness" before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, but to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."
I was finally able to give him a gift he would accept. But, I can't tell now...Can I?????
about unselfish giving in an unorthodox way. I met him when I moved to NC. I walked up to his restaurant as he was awkwardly sliding down the roof onto a ladder. There were no cars in the parking lot and it was midday. I wait at the bottom of the roof for him, thinking that he must be coming down to help me. "Can I help you?" he ask. "I was just coming to get an application. " I answer. "Well, I don't have them out here, go in and ask Kathy." he says as he walks off, grumbling at my obvious stupidity that he would have an application outside. I fill out the application, he hires me and thus started a friendship that has lasted for 25 years.
Fair, honest, funny the year round. Then comes November. Around Thanksgiving, he begins to turn green. Every day following Thanksgiving started with ~You better don't do a thing for me this Christmas or I'll....~ The threats changed in intensity the closer we got to the Christmas party. We all loved him dearly, but he wouldn't let us do a single thing for him. Ever!
The first couple of years for Christmas, he cooked a nice dinner for us at the restaurant. We brought our spouses and enjoyed time with co-workers. He would bring out the food, speak to everyone, wish them a Merry Christmas and then disappear into the kitchen, refusing help with dishes. If too many people came back to the kitchen to offer, he would holler "This is the last time I am throwing this damn Christmas party!" and we would all scurry back into the dining area.
The next Christmas, we all chipped in to purchase a nice big fruit basket. We delivered it to his home. Bad move. When we arrived at the Christmas party, he was banging things around loudly in the kitchen. We could hear him chopping ferociously on his butcher block. He served our wonderful meal and then he came out with our gifts. He passed out the Budweiser collectible porcelain steins.Smug satisfaction curled his lips into the grinch smile as we stuck our hands in to retrieve the Christmas bonus envelopes. Our hands jerked out of the steins, surprised to find the wet chopped fruit that had been delivered to his home. He obviously ran out of fruit to fill them all and chopped potatoes to add volume.
The restaurant grew in popularity and became the Mecca for locals 3 counties wide. The Christmas party's outgrew the dining area. He would reserve dining rooms at nice restaurants around town. As the meal commenced you could see his joy tend to turn to unrest. He didn't want a bunch of employees to start thanking him. After he knew everyone had eaten and consumed a sufficient amount of beverage, he would pay the bill and exit.
The Christmas gatherings grew fewer,but the group of people who have been with him for years have gathered every December since at a restaurant to celebrate our friendship. Each year as we pull in and give hugs with arms full of goody baskets, he threatens "There better not be a thing in there for me" We all promise there isn't. One year my friend gets back to the office and puts some of the candy we shared in a gift bag on his desk. She heard him minutes later "Who gave me this?" he yells.
I watch him. He takes care of the people around him. They are loyal to him. He always has a less fortunate person in his life. He seeks and finds people in need and does for them. Feeds them, takes them to appointments, befriends them. We have long since given up on giving him a card or gift for any occasion. One year, I popped in at the restaurant on a day that no one was supposed to be at work. There was a truck filled with bicycles at the back door. He saw my look of surprise but gave me the look of silence or else. Another year, a freezer full of turkeys, Meals on Wheels, Helping people with learning disabilities....These are just the few that I know by chance. The years rolled by as I watched him affect the lives of those around him humbly. I saw right through the French Grinch's green hairy fur. Beneath all the fur was a slobbery, wet, love dripping heart.
He taught me the true meaning of these verses. In Matthew 6:1-4 ( NIV version ) "Be careful not to do your "acts of righteousness" before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, but to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."
I was finally able to give him a gift he would accept. But, I can't tell now...Can I?????
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Mexican Bandaid's
Every time I look at a bottle of my favorite perfume it takes me back to this crazy day.I am going to one of my granddaughter's birthday parties. I realize the gas hand is on empty a few miles before I get there. I pull into a gas station. One of those that is half convenient store/half fried chicken and pizza eatery. Getting out of the car, my pocket book falls off of shoulder onto ground while I fumble with the keys to lock the doors. Pick the pocketbook up, pump the gas and head into store to pay. I shove my hand into my pocketbook and jerk back. My cylindrical bottle of Eden ~Ralph Lauren~ has broken in the fall and sliced a big chunk out of my finger. I don't do well with blood. Well, that's an understatement. I pass out usually. I can keep from passing out if I get it covered immediately. I get to the counter to pay for the gas with the intention of going to ladies restroom to find some paper towels to cover it. Well, the world starts spinning as the blood is running down my hand now into a little puddle on counter. I begin to wobble a bit and the clerk notices and tells the Mexican cook in the station nearby to run go get me a band-aid. He doesn't seem to understand her and she tells him in some type of broken english/spanish that I am bleeding. I close my eyes and hold the counter to keep from falling. He returns, I keep my eyes closed as he turns me to him and starts wrapping. I leave the store a little shaken, but better. Climbing into car I put my hands on the wheel and glance at the unusual band-aid. I have to stop the car. I laughed so hard that I couldn't pull out of the drive for 3 or 4 minutes. The nice Mexican man had wrapped my finger with a Kotex.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
No More Cucumbers Before Bedtime
Dirt road..divided by two planted fields, both cultivated. Remnants of each crop stand dry and dead. The field on left is corn, field on right, cotton. I am driving down the dirt road on an ATV Gator. I pull into the corn field, killing the engine quickly. About 15 yards in front of me is the biggest buck I have ever seen. His rack is so big that it looks burdensome on his head. I lift the barrel of a 12 gauge shotgun to shoot it. Peering through the sight of my gun, I am almost ready to squeeze off the shot. Something runs between the end of the barrel and the buck. An ominous looking wolf darts back and forth between me and the buck. Not the pretty kind of wolf you see in 1000 piece puzzles. His mouth slightly open and teeth bared he continues to dart back and forth in front of me. The deer is strangely oblivious to both of us. I look into the drink holder of the gator and there are no more shells. I have one shell. One shot. I need to shoot the buck. No one would ever believe how big this thing is, I need to bring it home. But, the wolf seems more interested in me than the buck. What if I shoot the deer and don't have a way to kill the wolf if he attacks. That's it, no ending. The dream replayed 
over and over all night.
over and over all night.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Thanksgiving Fiascoes
I am so excited I can hardly contain myself. I will be working Thanksgiving morning, but it won't steal my joy. It will be only the second time in about 25 years that I haven't started the day with Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. Although I would rather be off work,
it will be fun to watch the harried shoppers and have the opportunity to wish so many people a blessed Thanksgiving.
I brined our Duck this morning. Giblets are stewing in pot and the house is heady with the aroma of the holiday. I chuckle remembering some of my cooking fiascoes. My very first Thanksgiving turkey turned out beautiful! A few minutes into the meal, my father-in-law tapped me on the leg. I peeked down as he gently dropped the cooked bag of giblets into my hand. What the heck were the giblets doing in the neck? I didn't check that hole.
Then there was the beautiful Chocolate Meringue Pie sitting in front of microwave on counter. "When did pies start requiring batteries?" my ex-son in law asked. He had scooped out a big slice and pulled out a AAA battery. The battery had been sitting on top of microwave ready to re-load camera, rolled off into the pie and submerged itself as the thick meringue re-concealed it.
Then there was last year when a costly pan of oyster dressing in a faulty Pyrex baking dish exploded in my kitchen sending shards of glass into two rooms. It sounded like a shotgun blast! Don came running from bed. His concern was evident upon arrival. Save the stuffing! He pulled the center of the stuffing out claiming it was still good. He lives.
Oh, then there was the year that I decide to change up a bit. I cooked everyone a Cornish hen in place of a turkey. My grandchildren are still scarred. When I took the foil off the pan revealing each of their stuffed hens, they were mortified. I presume they thought grandma had succumbed to killing baby turkeys.
Laughter waves from family and friends still reverberate in the Milky Way. Thankful prayers warm my heart and satisfied belly rubbing and couch stretching are a joyous conclusion to the meals. My family is thankful, my dog stretches out on a cool tile floor, snoring. Her belly is full from the pieces of turkey passed beneath the table. Extra plates are made and wrapped to carry to a convenient store worker working a long day, he is thankful. A drive behind a shopping center reveals some homeless people sitting on crates toothless smiles and tobacco stained teeth say thank you. I am so blessed and so very Thankful!
it will be fun to watch the harried shoppers and have the opportunity to wish so many people a blessed Thanksgiving.
I brined our Duck this morning. Giblets are stewing in pot and the house is heady with the aroma of the holiday. I chuckle remembering some of my cooking fiascoes. My very first Thanksgiving turkey turned out beautiful! A few minutes into the meal, my father-in-law tapped me on the leg. I peeked down as he gently dropped the cooked bag of giblets into my hand. What the heck were the giblets doing in the neck? I didn't check that hole.
Then there was the beautiful Chocolate Meringue Pie sitting in front of microwave on counter. "When did pies start requiring batteries?" my ex-son in law asked. He had scooped out a big slice and pulled out a AAA battery. The battery had been sitting on top of microwave ready to re-load camera, rolled off into the pie and submerged itself as the thick meringue re-concealed it.
Then there was last year when a costly pan of oyster dressing in a faulty Pyrex baking dish exploded in my kitchen sending shards of glass into two rooms. It sounded like a shotgun blast! Don came running from bed. His concern was evident upon arrival. Save the stuffing! He pulled the center of the stuffing out claiming it was still good. He lives.
Oh, then there was the year that I decide to change up a bit. I cooked everyone a Cornish hen in place of a turkey. My grandchildren are still scarred. When I took the foil off the pan revealing each of their stuffed hens, they were mortified. I presume they thought grandma had succumbed to killing baby turkeys.
Laughter waves from family and friends still reverberate in the Milky Way. Thankful prayers warm my heart and satisfied belly rubbing and couch stretching are a joyous conclusion to the meals. My family is thankful, my dog stretches out on a cool tile floor, snoring. Her belly is full from the pieces of turkey passed beneath the table. Extra plates are made and wrapped to carry to a convenient store worker working a long day, he is thankful. A drive behind a shopping center reveals some homeless people sitting on crates toothless smiles and tobacco stained teeth say thank you. I am so blessed and so very Thankful!
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Confessions of a Southern Girl
I was reading the reviews of a local author whose book is going to be released soon ~Baptized in Sweet Tea~ by Ken Burger. It will be awesome I am sure. The title evokes the ease of our southern culture. But my throat closes and I shudder at the thought of taking a sip. Ok..here goes. I hate ~Sweet Tea~ I know, terrible right?
I have tried and failed miserably over the years to acquire a taste for it and have been known to run to the nearest waste facility to spit out the amber nectar of the south. This is not something taken lightly in the south and my DNA could be questioned by this utterance. I love everything about it other than it's taste though. The tinkling of ice in the clear glasses, lemon wedges crowning it's glory perched on rims. I have visions of wrap around porches lined with adirondacks or wicker furniture, every side table is graced with a half full glass of tea. The only reason that I may not be burned at the stake might be my affinity for RC Cola and Moonpies! While I'm fessing. Watermelon and Cantaloupe. Yup...that's right. Despise!
Oh and one more thing. I absolutely love Grits, but I can't cook them right. I may nail it once every five tries. My hubby describes them as either ~A Grit~ or ~Gritsesses~ One you can pick up and eat by the wedge, the other you can slurp with a straw. Oh well, still working on that one.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Friday, November 4, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Word.....Atavistic
Atavistic...throwback to an era ...revisted past way of thinking...
Nae think: Something akin to Déjà vu. Except, I know I have felt this way before.
Condition brought on by Good Coffee!
Nae think: Something akin to Déjà vu. Except, I know I have felt this way before.
Condition brought on by Good Coffee!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Blood Letting, Message in a Bottle and Ancient Indian Shell Ring
Blood Letting, Message in a Bottle and an Ancient Indian Shell Ring
Renae Brabham
Places without asphalt, styrofoam... light poles....whizzing cars....draw me to them like a bear to honey. Ironically, I drive on asphalt with the whizzing cars, pass hundreds of light poles, and drink coffee from a McDonalds styrofoam cup to get to those places. Over a month ago on a humid late August morning, I awoke with a sense of adventure. Groggily jiggling my computer mouse, it awakens my compass to Google the directions for the Ancient Indian See Wee Shell Ring in Awendaw. I put my (Go to heck) hat on and head out to find serenity in the remnants of an ancient civilization. The search for solitude and oneness with nature ends abruptly that morning in a patch of woods near Bull Island.
The shell ring is about ten miles from Mt. Pleasant on Hwy 17 North. I pulled into a gravel pathway with few parking spots. Spying a glass encased park sign, I get out to read it. All the normal park jargon and instructions and then a few added. Be sure to bring water and plenty of bug repellent. I check my water bottle...fine...bug spray...uh oh. I have been standing here reading this sign for several minutes without any bites. How bad can they be? I go back to the car to check the glove box for bug spray. Nope, but hmmmmm...what's this? It's hand sanitizer. I open the cap and sniff it. If I were a mosquito I wouldn't bite anyone with this stuff on. Lathered now with sanitizer, I head to the trail. I lift my camera and take a pic of the entrance, walk three steps past the sign and was covered...seriously covered by angry, black mosquitoes. Beating myself to death as I ran back to the car, I now sit separated from the pathway that led to beauty unknown by a windshield. Turning the key in the ignition, I spin out of the drive with a little kick of gravel, secretly hoping it took out a few of those skeeters. I'll be back, too curious to give up now. It would be nice to go back without a six dollar can of bug spray though. Maybe, I can find out what the Indians used to deter them.
One month later, on a cool crisp September morning, the ancient See Wee Shell Ring calls again. I pat myself down for keys and then call out the contents of my backpack. Water, cell phone, six dollar can of bug spray, breakfast burrito and Dr. Pepper. My friend later added sun block to the list of necessities. We re-name ourselves and the expedition Louise and Clara, after the famous trailblazers Louis and Clark. A half-hour later we are inching into the empty obscure drive of the shell ring. No cars, bikes or signs of civilization other than ours. The blue Taurus looks obtrusive in the tranquil environment. I silently wish to hide it from view. We get out and spray ourselves down immediately. Bushes with clusters of fuchsia colored berries beckon us to check them out, finding out later they are of the Buckthorn species.
The entrance to the See Wee Shell Ring consist of a park information sign with two, knee high round fence posts blocking the path, probably a deterrent for bikes or ATV‘s. The overgrown trail lays behind it. As we near the two poles, we notice a few items sitting on them. A pull tab ring from a 70’s era soft drink can. We chuckle, we had shared the era of the pull rings together. The other item was a glass bottle with a piece of paper rolled up inside. Louisa opens the loose cork and melted wax top. The bottle and paper inside are still wet. Indications that we aren't the only explorers this morning. We unroll the note, it reads in kid script, Ahoy!, be it known that Jack Sam Colby set this adrift August 1, 2011 at Gloucester, MA. Signed and sealed by his scribe Davy Jones. There is an address on it, but barely legible. We figure that the person that found the bottle adrift here didn't want to follow through with the obligation of notifying young Jack. I put the bottle in my back pack and we head down the trail. I hesitate to call it a trail, as the clearance looks more like an animal path. Louise has picked up a “Critter Gitter” a 4 foot stick with forked end to pin the critter to the ground. Pine straw is so heavy that it cushions our steps. Fallen pine limbs are patterned, resembling Rattle snakes lying in wait. Louise continues to poke questionable sticks and objects while we chatter our way through the path one behind the other. Skeletal logs of trees long dead are covered in moss lichen. Orange mushrooms shoot up occasionally to pop some color onto the pine straw forest bed. A simple placard sits atop a small wooden stake announcing our destination simply as “Shell Ring.” The pine path opens up to an incredible wide open vista of marsh. Complicated tributaries wind around a beautiful plank boardwalk, the tide appears to be low. We scan the area for the ancient mounds. A graveyard of storm ravaged trees to the right of the walk are uprooted and laying atop of pile of oyster shells. There are no fences or protective barriers encasing the mound. It mound appears to continue on as we walk further around the curving boardwalk. We are alone albeit the scurrying of hermit crabs. The low tide starves the plough mud and oyster beds of their nutrient, sea water. The marsh cracks and pops like Rice Krispies. We stand in front of an information pedestal that informs us that we are facing the ceremonial grounds opening in the center of the shell ring. The area is non-descript. The park signs offers suggestive information to explain oyster shells mounded in a circle enclave dating at minimum 4000 years old. Louise and I drop to our knees on the boardwalk and begin to mentally pull off the layers. What we are looking at is tangible, but vague. I'm not sure what I expected, an oyster shell from 4000 years ago looks like an oyster shell today. Composites show they are piled ten foot deep. That's one hell of a oyster roast. Archeologist have exhausted themselves in studies like these. Why did the Indians mound their shells in a ring like this? The elementary deduction of man/woman you hunt, me gather struck me. I would guess that the indigenous women didn't want the oyster shells with juices dripping in their compounds. Something akin to taking out the garbage today. And, you could only dump something so high before you need to make another pile. That's just my philosophy. Actual archaeological studies suggest something similar if you read between the line and graphs. Officious descriptions warranted further research at home. Mapping the Sewee Shell Ring. Michael Russo & Gregory Heide is an extensive research PDF file available with a quick Google.
There may not be a line to get in the See Wee Shell Ring, fee to pay or fence to go through, but the absence of tourism enticement shouldn't diminish it's historical and concentric value. Actually, I find it now to be more awesome without the trappings. It is a jewel in the rough. Upon reading the information sign explaining the open mound in center before us, my friend Louise looked out in awe and said. "Isn't
it amazing that man innately knew how to worship and gather ceremoniously without ever being taught.” Over 4000 years ago, they gathered right here to celebrate as families and friends. Just as we too did today. We celebrated a friendship, we shared our lives in conversation, we laughed and scratched our bites and got a few cactus splinters in us. The Louise and Clara expedition will live forever on my mind. A blessed day of laughs and hours of talking on a bench alone watching over a secluded ancient shell ring and wondrous marsh. We keep our spirits alive with this sense of wonder and exploration. Back to the beginning of the story. We find a message in a bottle. Two worlds collided in a narrow tributary on the sacred ground of the See Wee Shell Ring. A little boy, anxious and filled with wonder throws a bottle off of a pier in Gloucester, MA. It travels 1190 miles through Hurricane Irene to land at low tide in a marsh in the shell ring. The bottle was left on a post by someone who found it interesting, but found by others who share that sense of wonder and exploration. I am going to send a post card to Jack in Gloucester, telling him where his bottled landed. If he wants it returned, we can do that. If he wants us to re-drift it, we can do that too.
Renae Brabham
Places without asphalt, styrofoam... light poles....whizzing cars....draw me to them like a bear to honey. Ironically, I drive on asphalt with the whizzing cars, pass hundreds of light poles, and drink coffee from a McDonalds styrofoam cup to get to those places. Over a month ago on a humid late August morning, I awoke with a sense of adventure. Groggily jiggling my computer mouse, it awakens my compass to Google the directions for the Ancient Indian See Wee Shell Ring in Awendaw. I put my (Go to heck) hat on and head out to find serenity in the remnants of an ancient civilization. The search for solitude and oneness with nature ends abruptly that morning in a patch of woods near Bull Island.
The shell ring is about ten miles from Mt. Pleasant on Hwy 17 North. I pulled into a gravel pathway with few parking spots. Spying a glass encased park sign, I get out to read it. All the normal park jargon and instructions and then a few added. Be sure to bring water and plenty of bug repellent. I check my water bottle...fine...bug spray...uh oh. I have been standing here reading this sign for several minutes without any bites. How bad can they be? I go back to the car to check the glove box for bug spray. Nope, but hmmmmm...what's this? It's hand sanitizer. I open the cap and sniff it. If I were a mosquito I wouldn't bite anyone with this stuff on. Lathered now with sanitizer, I head to the trail. I lift my camera and take a pic of the entrance, walk three steps past the sign and was covered...seriously covered by angry, black mosquitoes. Beating myself to death as I ran back to the car, I now sit separated from the pathway that led to beauty unknown by a windshield. Turning the key in the ignition, I spin out of the drive with a little kick of gravel, secretly hoping it took out a few of those skeeters. I'll be back, too curious to give up now. It would be nice to go back without a six dollar can of bug spray though. Maybe, I can find out what the Indians used to deter them.
One month later, on a cool crisp September morning, the ancient See Wee Shell Ring calls again. I pat myself down for keys and then call out the contents of my backpack. Water, cell phone, six dollar can of bug spray, breakfast burrito and Dr. Pepper. My friend later added sun block to the list of necessities. We re-name ourselves and the expedition Louise and Clara, after the famous trailblazers Louis and Clark. A half-hour later we are inching into the empty obscure drive of the shell ring. No cars, bikes or signs of civilization other than ours. The blue Taurus looks obtrusive in the tranquil environment. I silently wish to hide it from view. We get out and spray ourselves down immediately. Bushes with clusters of fuchsia colored berries beckon us to check them out, finding out later they are of the Buckthorn species.
The entrance to the See Wee Shell Ring consist of a park information sign with two, knee high round fence posts blocking the path, probably a deterrent for bikes or ATV‘s. The overgrown trail lays behind it. As we near the two poles, we notice a few items sitting on them. A pull tab ring from a 70’s era soft drink can. We chuckle, we had shared the era of the pull rings together. The other item was a glass bottle with a piece of paper rolled up inside. Louisa opens the loose cork and melted wax top. The bottle and paper inside are still wet. Indications that we aren't the only explorers this morning. We unroll the note, it reads in kid script, Ahoy!, be it known that Jack Sam Colby set this adrift August 1, 2011 at Gloucester, MA. Signed and sealed by his scribe Davy Jones. There is an address on it, but barely legible. We figure that the person that found the bottle adrift here didn't want to follow through with the obligation of notifying young Jack. I put the bottle in my back pack and we head down the trail. I hesitate to call it a trail, as the clearance looks more like an animal path. Louise has picked up a “Critter Gitter” a 4 foot stick with forked end to pin the critter to the ground. Pine straw is so heavy that it cushions our steps. Fallen pine limbs are patterned, resembling Rattle snakes lying in wait. Louise continues to poke questionable sticks and objects while we chatter our way through the path one behind the other. Skeletal logs of trees long dead are covered in moss lichen. Orange mushrooms shoot up occasionally to pop some color onto the pine straw forest bed. A simple placard sits atop a small wooden stake announcing our destination simply as “Shell Ring.” The pine path opens up to an incredible wide open vista of marsh. Complicated tributaries wind around a beautiful plank boardwalk, the tide appears to be low. We scan the area for the ancient mounds. A graveyard of storm ravaged trees to the right of the walk are uprooted and laying atop of pile of oyster shells. There are no fences or protective barriers encasing the mound. It mound appears to continue on as we walk further around the curving boardwalk. We are alone albeit the scurrying of hermit crabs. The low tide starves the plough mud and oyster beds of their nutrient, sea water. The marsh cracks and pops like Rice Krispies. We stand in front of an information pedestal that informs us that we are facing the ceremonial grounds opening in the center of the shell ring. The area is non-descript. The park signs offers suggestive information to explain oyster shells mounded in a circle enclave dating at minimum 4000 years old. Louise and I drop to our knees on the boardwalk and begin to mentally pull off the layers. What we are looking at is tangible, but vague. I'm not sure what I expected, an oyster shell from 4000 years ago looks like an oyster shell today. Composites show they are piled ten foot deep. That's one hell of a oyster roast. Archeologist have exhausted themselves in studies like these. Why did the Indians mound their shells in a ring like this? The elementary deduction of man/woman you hunt, me gather struck me. I would guess that the indigenous women didn't want the oyster shells with juices dripping in their compounds. Something akin to taking out the garbage today. And, you could only dump something so high before you need to make another pile. That's just my philosophy. Actual archaeological studies suggest something similar if you read between the line and graphs. Officious descriptions warranted further research at home. Mapping the Sewee Shell Ring. Michael Russo & Gregory Heide is an extensive research PDF file available with a quick Google.
There may not be a line to get in the See Wee Shell Ring, fee to pay or fence to go through, but the absence of tourism enticement shouldn't diminish it's historical and concentric value. Actually, I find it now to be more awesome without the trappings. It is a jewel in the rough. Upon reading the information sign explaining the open mound in center before us, my friend Louise looked out in awe and said. "Isn't
it amazing that man innately knew how to worship and gather ceremoniously without ever being taught.” Over 4000 years ago, they gathered right here to celebrate as families and friends. Just as we too did today. We celebrated a friendship, we shared our lives in conversation, we laughed and scratched our bites and got a few cactus splinters in us. The Louise and Clara expedition will live forever on my mind. A blessed day of laughs and hours of talking on a bench alone watching over a secluded ancient shell ring and wondrous marsh. We keep our spirits alive with this sense of wonder and exploration. Back to the beginning of the story. We find a message in a bottle. Two worlds collided in a narrow tributary on the sacred ground of the See Wee Shell Ring. A little boy, anxious and filled with wonder throws a bottle off of a pier in Gloucester, MA. It travels 1190 miles through Hurricane Irene to land at low tide in a marsh in the shell ring. The bottle was left on a post by someone who found it interesting, but found by others who share that sense of wonder and exploration. I am going to send a post card to Jack in Gloucester, telling him where his bottled landed. If he wants it returned, we can do that. If he wants us to re-drift it, we can do that too.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Making Biscuits Isn't All That Hard
But.....Making biscuits someone will eat is!! Twenty five years of trying, I finally made a batch that Don didn't let drop right out of his mouth at the table. Not pictured here as they are all gone!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Dawning Of A New Day
Ethereal sky this morning. Windy and Humid! Snowy was dragging me to follow a squirrel so I didn't have correct light on camera...but I like it!
Monday, September 5, 2011
Flash-Back
FLASH-BACK (condition when you find your hot flash isn't limited to just your neck anymore)
R. Brabham
Ok, I'll admit I struggled with this story for a bit. I had a hot flash, left to go get some snacks, forgot what I was doing, remembered what I was doing and came back. I thought of the Jeff Foxworthy Line and replaced Redneck with Menopause. You might be going through menopause if:
You would like to start a focus group to study the benefits of providing menopausal parking spaces at the grocery stores, hospitals, malls and chocolate shops. Remember ~Tawanda~ in the movie (Fried Green Tomatoes)
You are absentminded, hmmmm, what was I saying? Oh yeah. Absentminded.
You are acting just plain stupid. e.g. Standing at the front door of my house clicking the unlock button on my car keys, trying to figure out why door won't unlock.
Your husband is sitting on the couch with a blanket rather than you.
You find yourself ripping open a bag of m & m's in the store before you get to the register.
You do things you wouldn't do, because what the hell, you're 50 and invisible anyway.
You feel sorry for your old make up brush when the hair starts falling out.
Won't pluck eyebrows for fear they won't grow back.
You don't want to brush the loose hairs off your shoulder, it's too final.
You think of spray painting your scalp to a more neutral color, like your current hair color.
You realize that you will have to go to prison to finish your latest projects.
You don't buy green banana's anymore.
You wake up one morning and your hair has taken on the texture of a brillo pad.
You talk to your body in the mirror, "What the heck is that!?"
You don't turn around when you hear a wolf whistle. Because you did once and it was a parrot.
You have a brief moment of "I've still got it" when a trucker honks his horn. Then pulls along side closer to motion that your gas cap door is open.
Your sister calls your mole a liver spot.
These were my "aha" moments. Everyone has their own I am sure. There were signs it was happening. You just
ignored them, like you ignored that aged poofy person that mimicked your every move as you walked past the store windows. I'm not depressed about it. I just haven't embraced it yet. There are benefits I am sure. I just don't have enough material to write a page on it yet.
R. Brabham
Ok, I'll admit I struggled with this story for a bit. I had a hot flash, left to go get some snacks, forgot what I was doing, remembered what I was doing and came back. I thought of the Jeff Foxworthy Line and replaced Redneck with Menopause. You might be going through menopause if:
You would like to start a focus group to study the benefits of providing menopausal parking spaces at the grocery stores, hospitals, malls and chocolate shops. Remember ~Tawanda~ in the movie (Fried Green Tomatoes)
You are absentminded, hmmmm, what was I saying? Oh yeah. Absentminded.
You are acting just plain stupid. e.g. Standing at the front door of my house clicking the unlock button on my car keys, trying to figure out why door won't unlock.
Your husband is sitting on the couch with a blanket rather than you.
You find yourself ripping open a bag of m & m's in the store before you get to the register.
You do things you wouldn't do, because what the hell, you're 50 and invisible anyway.
You feel sorry for your old make up brush when the hair starts falling out.
Won't pluck eyebrows for fear they won't grow back.
You don't want to brush the loose hairs off your shoulder, it's too final.
You think of spray painting your scalp to a more neutral color, like your current hair color.
You realize that you will have to go to prison to finish your latest projects.
You don't buy green banana's anymore.
You wake up one morning and your hair has taken on the texture of a brillo pad.
You talk to your body in the mirror, "What the heck is that!?"
You don't turn around when you hear a wolf whistle. Because you did once and it was a parrot.
You have a brief moment of "I've still got it" when a trucker honks his horn. Then pulls along side closer to motion that your gas cap door is open.
Your sister calls your mole a liver spot.
These were my "aha" moments. Everyone has their own I am sure. There were signs it was happening. You just
ignored them, like you ignored that aged poofy person that mimicked your every move as you walked past the store windows. I'm not depressed about it. I just haven't embraced it yet. There are benefits I am sure. I just don't have enough material to write a page on it yet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)