I am the world’s worst traveler, at least that is what my husband tells me. I love to travel but I am travel handicapped. This morning I woke up to my alarm going off at 3:50 a.m. to catch my flight to Springfield, Missouri. Good news-I arrived at the airport in plenty of time; however, bad news- the boarding pass Tom printed off for me didn’t have the gate number printed on it. Not to worry, I can find a screen and figure it out, I think as I nervously look around for a monitor. Good News- No worries! The baggage check lady put the gate number on my boarding pass! I smile confidently as I briskly walk to the security area. I’m debating whether or not I should tell the person at the ID check place that I appreciate all they (TSA) do to keep me safe. Chickened out. Bad news-I forgot to remove my jacket. I got stopped immediately and was told to please remove my jacket and put my feet into the yellow foot prints and put my hands over my head. Evidently, you have to have a body scan if you leave your jacket on…sigh. Good news- On the other side of security I was close to my gate AND the restrooms. YES! Good news-Totally empty and clean bathroom. Bad news-upon arrival at my gate, I realize I dropped my boarding pass in the previously mention clean bathroom. I run back to the bathroom, carry on slapping me in the back of the knees and purse flopping, praying fervently that some terrorist that looks like me and has found my boarding pass and is planning mischief does not exist! Good news-there is some tale tell paper under the stall door. Toilet tissue? Good news! My boarding pass! Back to the gate. No one there… Maybe an uncrowded flight? It could happen. Bad News-Plane is delayed due to mechanical stuff. Bad news-I hear my name announced across the Italian marble concourse… “Last call for flight XXX for Melanya Berg. Please come to gate xx immediately!” Whaaa? Shoot! I’m running three doors down and barely make it. The baggage lady put the wrong gate on my pass. Bad news-Grumpy door keeper doesn’t care that the baggage lady almost made me miss my flight.
I am the last passenger to board the plane. It’s totally packed. I’m sweating like an iced diet coke in a sauna, I throw my stuff under the seat in front of me. Bad news- The guy in front of me figured I’d never make it so HIS stuff was in my space. Good news-The guy across the aisle reminded him the rule is “…under the seat in front of you.” At last peace. Knitting, reading, music, napping…until I get to Dallas/Ft. Worth. Part II.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
I Felt That...
It’s been almost 72 hours and I still can’t think of it without tears stinging my eyes. Hours of TV watching, carting a bag to car, restaurants and church sanctuaries; ending with a late night marathon all coming to waste. We will not even mention the hours of day dreaming and envisioning the future. But, alas, it was all ruined in a matter of minutes. No matter that the blanket was almost dry to begin with, the dryer was set on the lowest, gentlest setting possible, or that I whispered a prayer of protection for its mix of wool and bamboo fibers. The lovely Beach Glass green blanket, knit with the loving care of an expectant grandmother is now just a felted bath mat.
I would love to blame the yarn, but I knew not choosing an acrylic medium would be tricky, and I also knew that the fibers were prone to felting, but I had run the little sweater and bonnet through a brief cycle and the result was favorable. I should have known better…. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER… What was I thinking? At 2:00 a.m. I was not thinking. The list of I should haves include: allowing myself a late finish date, going to bed at 4:00 instead of 2:00, skip knitting the cute beaded headband two weeks ago… ARGH! After running that gamut my next rant was directed at God. “Why didn’t you stop me? Yes, I realize that I was created with common sense, but surly a Higher Power intervention could have been arranged!” By the time I was ready to leave for the baby shower with half a gift, I had run the full circle and was reverting back to, “I have no one to blame but myself. “
So many things go through your mind when you realize what is done cannot be undone: If I had just waited two minutes before sipping that hot tea, if I had just checked my rear view mirror one more time, if I had just listened to my head instead of my heart. After going through all the “should haves” we begin to concentrate on the “what’s to be done” phase. Tom’s suggestion was to make the “blanket” into a sleeping bag. In my agony I responded with, “I’d rather throw it away.” and gave him a scathing glare. Trying to make something useful out of our “should haves” is a painful experience. It mocks you (I still can’t look at the matted object lying on my dryer).
Saturday night I sat in front of my TV with a movie in the player. My hands felt empty, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick up an unfinished knitting project. I was still in mourning. By Sunday evening, I looked up that sock I had started a couple of months ago, fingered the predictable wool-acrylic blend and sat down to try a couple of rounds. Yep, I still had it. I was still missing the warmth of the baby blanket on my legs and the weight of three feet of knitting on needles, but I found I could still enjoy the process.
I will forgive myself, eventually, for taking a short cut that cost hours of knitting time, and I will eventually laugh at this episode of knitting gone wrong, but in the meantime I will put off doing laundry until I can manage to pick up the remnant of my pride and move the felted mess of a blanket off the dryer, and put it aside.
I would love to blame the yarn, but I knew not choosing an acrylic medium would be tricky, and I also knew that the fibers were prone to felting, but I had run the little sweater and bonnet through a brief cycle and the result was favorable. I should have known better…. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER… What was I thinking? At 2:00 a.m. I was not thinking. The list of I should haves include: allowing myself a late finish date, going to bed at 4:00 instead of 2:00, skip knitting the cute beaded headband two weeks ago… ARGH! After running that gamut my next rant was directed at God. “Why didn’t you stop me? Yes, I realize that I was created with common sense, but surly a Higher Power intervention could have been arranged!” By the time I was ready to leave for the baby shower with half a gift, I had run the full circle and was reverting back to, “I have no one to blame but myself. “
So many things go through your mind when you realize what is done cannot be undone: If I had just waited two minutes before sipping that hot tea, if I had just checked my rear view mirror one more time, if I had just listened to my head instead of my heart. After going through all the “should haves” we begin to concentrate on the “what’s to be done” phase. Tom’s suggestion was to make the “blanket” into a sleeping bag. In my agony I responded with, “I’d rather throw it away.” and gave him a scathing glare. Trying to make something useful out of our “should haves” is a painful experience. It mocks you (I still can’t look at the matted object lying on my dryer).
Saturday night I sat in front of my TV with a movie in the player. My hands felt empty, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick up an unfinished knitting project. I was still in mourning. By Sunday evening, I looked up that sock I had started a couple of months ago, fingered the predictable wool-acrylic blend and sat down to try a couple of rounds. Yep, I still had it. I was still missing the warmth of the baby blanket on my legs and the weight of three feet of knitting on needles, but I found I could still enjoy the process.
I will forgive myself, eventually, for taking a short cut that cost hours of knitting time, and I will eventually laugh at this episode of knitting gone wrong, but in the meantime I will put off doing laundry until I can manage to pick up the remnant of my pride and move the felted mess of a blanket off the dryer, and put it aside.
Friday, May 6, 2011
If I Had My Life To Live Over~Erma Bombeck
Someday I'm going to write a book called, "20 Things I Want My Children to Learn While They are Young That Took Me 30 Years to Learn." Okay, the title is kind of long, I'll work on that. In the mean time, this list from Erma (whom I admire greatly) will be more than enough.
Happy Mother's Day!
If I Had My Life To Live Over
by Erma Bombeck
I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the "good" living room and worried much less about dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching TV - and more while watching life.
I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
In stead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love yous" ...more "I'm sorrys"...
But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it...live it...and never give it back.
Happy Mother's Day!
If I Had My Life To Live Over
by Erma Bombeck
I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the "good" living room and worried much less about dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching TV - and more while watching life.
I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
In stead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love yous" ...more "I'm sorrys"...
But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it...live it...and never give it back.
Monday, May 2, 2011
...But(t) Dust
There is a joke that circulates through the emails on a regular basis about a little girl listening to the pastor's prayer, "Oh God, remember we are but dust." (Psalm 103:14). The little girl later asks her mother, "What is butt dust?"
Oh, we laugh, but at times we feel more like butt dust than but dust. And, we are not alone in this. Remember Nathan poking his finger in David's face, "You are the man..." Butt dust! Jesus catching his disciples snoozing while he is sweating blood in prayer, "Can't you watch with me for one hour?" Butt dust! And of course there is me who regularly crosses the line into that category of humiliation.
We are forever sorting out the quirks of the English language. We limp through synonyms, jump over spelling rules and sweat over punctuation. Is it "then" or "than", "further" or "farther", "but" or "butt"? This is why we go back to the original language. And of course we know it isn't the "but" that is the issue, it's the dust. The dust refereed to here is the dust God scooped up from His freshly created world and formed into people. It is also what our bodies will return to when when die. Although we are not worldly (all the time), we are of the world and the laws of nature pull at us constantly, drawing us ever closer to the dust, physically. But (there's that word again), our spirits are ever pulled heavenward by a stronger force. The love of a Heavenly Father. So, weather...um....whether I am "but dust" or "butt dust", my Father is compassionate and His lovingkindess is from everlasting to everlasting. He knows me and my "idiot-syncrasies", and yet I am loved.
This blog entry is dedicated to my friend Jennifer who finds literary inspiration in a clogged toilet and I am encouraged!
Oh, we laugh, but at times we feel more like butt dust than but dust. And, we are not alone in this. Remember Nathan poking his finger in David's face, "You are the man..." Butt dust! Jesus catching his disciples snoozing while he is sweating blood in prayer, "Can't you watch with me for one hour?" Butt dust! And of course there is me who regularly crosses the line into that category of humiliation.
We are forever sorting out the quirks of the English language. We limp through synonyms, jump over spelling rules and sweat over punctuation. Is it "then" or "than", "further" or "farther", "but" or "butt"? This is why we go back to the original language. And of course we know it isn't the "but" that is the issue, it's the dust. The dust refereed to here is the dust God scooped up from His freshly created world and formed into people. It is also what our bodies will return to when when die. Although we are not worldly (all the time), we are of the world and the laws of nature pull at us constantly, drawing us ever closer to the dust, physically. But (there's that word again), our spirits are ever pulled heavenward by a stronger force. The love of a Heavenly Father. So, weather...um....whether I am "but dust" or "butt dust", my Father is compassionate and His lovingkindess is from everlasting to everlasting. He knows me and my "idiot-syncrasies", and yet I am loved.
This blog entry is dedicated to my friend Jennifer who finds literary inspiration in a clogged toilet and I am encouraged!
Friday, July 2, 2010
Thirty Years? Thirty Years...THIRTY YEARS!
My husband, Tom, and I just celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary. I woke up June 21st, in Cordova, Alaska, and asked myself, "Can it really be 30 years?" Then I looked over at Tom, snoozing away, heavier, grayer, although I know I haven't changed a lick, and I can tell it has been 30 years! Okay, I admit, I have changed. I'm hoping the hair color commerical is correct in saying I'm not older, I'm better, but somehow I get the feeling they just want me to buy their hair dye.
When I asked Tom, "Are you where you thought you would be after thirty years?" he admitted he thought he would be in a different place, both physically and vocationally. He thought we would be living on a farm in Wisconsin, growing other people's children in a foster group home. "Really?" I replied, "I never knew that was your dream!" I'm not sure if he never told meor if I just never listened. Probably the latter. Then he returned the question to me. I of course had already thought about it, had been thinking about it and journaled it out! After all, it was my question. I had always pictured myself living in a lovely home, beautiful children, and grandchildren to adore. Those dreams have come true. Did I expect them to happen in Alaska? No. The thing that I never dreamed was an ordination and call to ministry. I certainly had expected a music ministry as a lay person. Choirs and worship teams were always important to me, but I never dreamed I'd have a longing to teach, preach and speak let alone a calling to do so.
As Tom and I talked, we both agreed we didn't expect marriage to be so difficult. The joining of two totally different opinions of how socks and towels should be folded, what color cars to purchase, with who's family we should celebrate Christmas, and the definition of affection, proves to be challenges we still deal with. For example: he considers me weeding flowers while he mows the lawn a date. I on the other hand expect dinner and movie, I consider a day of reading journaling and blogging (much like day today) a day well spent. He is all about cleaning the garage, building a planter and brushing the dog to make his day off complete. He does not understand the draw of Facebook and I cannot get the hang of banking on line. A lingering kiss and hug for me sets my day and for him, a quick smooch and a patting my backside means he's still interested. After thirty years you'd think we'd have met somewhere in the middle. But, alas we are still at opposite ends on many things.
The really important things we have managed to agree upon. We both felt Christian Education and an active church life to be priority for our children, pets are a must, family comes first right after God, and pizza on Friday nights is a bonding experience (thus the extra pounds, I'm afraid). We both feel birthdays and anniversaries are meant to be celebrated, and the bedroom is sacred. Individual "quiet time" for our own personal relationship with God has developed on it's own and we rarely infringe on each other during these morning sessions of quiet meditation. These are a few of the foundations that have held our relationship together through the tough times.
Speaking of tough times, there have been a few. I remember sitting in a counselor's office, Tom on one end of the couch me on the other and the counselor saying, "Really, I see no hope for this marriage. It would be better if you two just went your own ways." Well, we stuck it out. Are all our issues resolved? No, and they never will be because we are human. We have come to the conclusion that I will always remain a mystery to Tom, and he will always frustrate me with his down to business, cut the frills personality. We have learned to cope and even flourish at times, thanks to Dr. Dobson, the wisdom of children and the book of James.
As I looked through the cards at the grocery store, I chose one for Tom that had a drawing of a man's and woman's underwear on a clothes line with the words, "I'll be brief." The inside just read, "Happy Anniversary, darling." I penned the words, "These last 30 years have gone by so fast, let's take the next a little slower, please!" What does that mean? I'm not sure. To begin with: a quiet celebration walking the harbor of Cordova, being served gummy ice cream by an Irish archaeologist in a quiet burger joint, exchanging new wedding rings while we eat strawberry cheese cake in our jeans, and going to bed at nine. How romantic is that? In my book, very!
The question now is, "Where do I see myself in thirty years?" I hope to be a sweet little old lady ready with a tart come back now and then, a grandma who can spoil a teenager and yet be respected by the most rebellious waif, and the light in my husband's eye who still gives me a quick smooch and a pat on the bottom to show he's still interested.
Happy anniversary to my patient and sometimes astounded husband.
When I asked Tom, "Are you where you thought you would be after thirty years?" he admitted he thought he would be in a different place, both physically and vocationally. He thought we would be living on a farm in Wisconsin, growing other people's children in a foster group home. "Really?" I replied, "I never knew that was your dream!" I'm not sure if he never told meor if I just never listened. Probably the latter. Then he returned the question to me. I of course had already thought about it, had been thinking about it and journaled it out! After all, it was my question. I had always pictured myself living in a lovely home, beautiful children, and grandchildren to adore. Those dreams have come true. Did I expect them to happen in Alaska? No. The thing that I never dreamed was an ordination and call to ministry. I certainly had expected a music ministry as a lay person. Choirs and worship teams were always important to me, but I never dreamed I'd have a longing to teach, preach and speak let alone a calling to do so.
As Tom and I talked, we both agreed we didn't expect marriage to be so difficult. The joining of two totally different opinions of how socks and towels should be folded, what color cars to purchase, with who's family we should celebrate Christmas, and the definition of affection, proves to be challenges we still deal with. For example: he considers me weeding flowers while he mows the lawn a date. I on the other hand expect dinner and movie, I consider a day of reading journaling and blogging (much like day today) a day well spent. He is all about cleaning the garage, building a planter and brushing the dog to make his day off complete. He does not understand the draw of Facebook and I cannot get the hang of banking on line. A lingering kiss and hug for me sets my day and for him, a quick smooch and a patting my backside means he's still interested. After thirty years you'd think we'd have met somewhere in the middle. But, alas we are still at opposite ends on many things.
The really important things we have managed to agree upon. We both felt Christian Education and an active church life to be priority for our children, pets are a must, family comes first right after God, and pizza on Friday nights is a bonding experience (thus the extra pounds, I'm afraid). We both feel birthdays and anniversaries are meant to be celebrated, and the bedroom is sacred. Individual "quiet time" for our own personal relationship with God has developed on it's own and we rarely infringe on each other during these morning sessions of quiet meditation. These are a few of the foundations that have held our relationship together through the tough times.
Speaking of tough times, there have been a few. I remember sitting in a counselor's office, Tom on one end of the couch me on the other and the counselor saying, "Really, I see no hope for this marriage. It would be better if you two just went your own ways." Well, we stuck it out. Are all our issues resolved? No, and they never will be because we are human. We have come to the conclusion that I will always remain a mystery to Tom, and he will always frustrate me with his down to business, cut the frills personality. We have learned to cope and even flourish at times, thanks to Dr. Dobson, the wisdom of children and the book of James.
As I looked through the cards at the grocery store, I chose one for Tom that had a drawing of a man's and woman's underwear on a clothes line with the words, "I'll be brief." The inside just read, "Happy Anniversary, darling." I penned the words, "These last 30 years have gone by so fast, let's take the next a little slower, please!" What does that mean? I'm not sure. To begin with: a quiet celebration walking the harbor of Cordova, being served gummy ice cream by an Irish archaeologist in a quiet burger joint, exchanging new wedding rings while we eat strawberry cheese cake in our jeans, and going to bed at nine. How romantic is that? In my book, very!
The question now is, "Where do I see myself in thirty years?" I hope to be a sweet little old lady ready with a tart come back now and then, a grandma who can spoil a teenager and yet be respected by the most rebellious waif, and the light in my husband's eye who still gives me a quick smooch and a pat on the bottom to show he's still interested.
Happy anniversary to my patient and sometimes astounded husband.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Water and Blood
Sometimes I wish I could remember exactly what it was I was thinking and feeling when I wrote entries such as this one.
Journal Entry: July 21, 2002
This is the One who came by water and blood, Jesus Christ, not with the water only, but with the blood...For there are three that testify: The Spirit and the water and the blood, and the three are in agreement. 1 John 5:6-8
With a gush of water and blood, the infant Jesus was born into the world. The water from Mary's womb was absorbed into the straw and dirt beneath her. She lovingly wiped her own blood from the face of the newborn Christ. Mary's spirit soared as she looked her miracle baby with the blood and water of birth still evident in his hair.
Jesus rose out of the water on the strong arm of His trusted cousin. The water streamed from his face and clothes as John brought Him upright and the Spirit of God descended and lit on Jesus' wet hair. John was a witness to the Father's approval and although he was unaware of the fact, his own spilled blood was soon be the beginning of the end of Jesus' earthly ministry.
Jesus, in unbearable pain, looked to heaven and released His Spirit to His Father. Nearby a soldier lifted his sword, and plunged into Jesus' side. Again, there was a gush of water and blood. The ground beneath the cross absorbed the water of a broken heart and Mary wiped her Son's blood from His face.
The testimony of the Spirit, the water and the blood...And the testimony is this, that God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. 1 John 5:11
Journal Entry: July 21, 2002
This is the One who came by water and blood, Jesus Christ, not with the water only, but with the blood...For there are three that testify: The Spirit and the water and the blood, and the three are in agreement. 1 John 5:6-8
With a gush of water and blood, the infant Jesus was born into the world. The water from Mary's womb was absorbed into the straw and dirt beneath her. She lovingly wiped her own blood from the face of the newborn Christ. Mary's spirit soared as she looked her miracle baby with the blood and water of birth still evident in his hair.
Jesus rose out of the water on the strong arm of His trusted cousin. The water streamed from his face and clothes as John brought Him upright and the Spirit of God descended and lit on Jesus' wet hair. John was a witness to the Father's approval and although he was unaware of the fact, his own spilled blood was soon be the beginning of the end of Jesus' earthly ministry.
Jesus, in unbearable pain, looked to heaven and released His Spirit to His Father. Nearby a soldier lifted his sword, and plunged into Jesus' side. Again, there was a gush of water and blood. The ground beneath the cross absorbed the water of a broken heart and Mary wiped her Son's blood from His face.
The testimony of the Spirit, the water and the blood...And the testimony is this, that God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. 1 John 5:11
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Garage Sale Gifts
Mother's Day! What a bouquet of memories and emotions that day brings up for me.
As a child growing up on the edge of a field of Wyoming wild flowers, Mother's Day meant a handpicked bouquet of weeds, roots and all, proudly presented to my mom. She loveingly put them into her best vases and set them in a place of honor. They looked quite exquisite; but oh, the smell! Wyoming wild flowers smell like old swamp water when you bring them indoors. Smell didn't matter though, they were appreciated and I learned that giving is better than receiving, smelly wild flowers, that is.
As a young mother I received numerous handmade object from school and Sunday school classes. I always loved the handmade pop cycle stick projects with macaroni glued precariously in indiscernible patterns, but they only held a close second to the garage sale items wrapped in whatever paper was available, including toilet paper. I've received old jewelry boxes, books, and slightly used beauty aids. I have unwrapped blue plates, rocks and odd kitchen gadgets; all given with the light of expectation in the eyes of a child, purchased with pennies from my own pocket.
Kristen shared the tale of her neighbor boy who had a little garage sale on her curb. Six pilfered items made up his total inventory. Among those items was a Harlequin Romance and a camera. I had to laugh as I imagined one mom frantically looking for her much anticipated novel as her "me time" ticked away; and another mother unwrapping an amazing gift of a digital camera with pictures of someone elses child smiling from the mini screen. Children have little sense of personal or monetary value which is refreshing if not frustrating at times.
This year my Mother's Day will consist of a lovely dinner provided by my husband, beautifully wrapped and well thought out gifts and cards from my children, and purchasing a perfect bouquet of flowers to deliver to the cemetery. I will hug my children, kiss my grand baby and miss my mom, but it will be another memorable Mother's Day, because being a daughter and a mother is a memorable gift from God.
I wish you a Happy and Memorable Mother's Day!
As a child growing up on the edge of a field of Wyoming wild flowers, Mother's Day meant a handpicked bouquet of weeds, roots and all, proudly presented to my mom. She loveingly put them into her best vases and set them in a place of honor. They looked quite exquisite; but oh, the smell! Wyoming wild flowers smell like old swamp water when you bring them indoors. Smell didn't matter though, they were appreciated and I learned that giving is better than receiving, smelly wild flowers, that is.
As a young mother I received numerous handmade object from school and Sunday school classes. I always loved the handmade pop cycle stick projects with macaroni glued precariously in indiscernible patterns, but they only held a close second to the garage sale items wrapped in whatever paper was available, including toilet paper. I've received old jewelry boxes, books, and slightly used beauty aids. I have unwrapped blue plates, rocks and odd kitchen gadgets; all given with the light of expectation in the eyes of a child, purchased with pennies from my own pocket.
Kristen shared the tale of her neighbor boy who had a little garage sale on her curb. Six pilfered items made up his total inventory. Among those items was a Harlequin Romance and a camera. I had to laugh as I imagined one mom frantically looking for her much anticipated novel as her "me time" ticked away; and another mother unwrapping an amazing gift of a digital camera with pictures of someone elses child smiling from the mini screen. Children have little sense of personal or monetary value which is refreshing if not frustrating at times.
This year my Mother's Day will consist of a lovely dinner provided by my husband, beautifully wrapped and well thought out gifts and cards from my children, and purchasing a perfect bouquet of flowers to deliver to the cemetery. I will hug my children, kiss my grand baby and miss my mom, but it will be another memorable Mother's Day, because being a daughter and a mother is a memorable gift from God.
I wish you a Happy and Memorable Mother's Day!
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