A Friend for All Time

There were lots of tears this morning as I was preparing my sweet daughter to start her school week.

My 1st grader Elise is troubled by a friend using a nickname in the classroom that is embarrassing her--and her friend won't stop despite Elise's kind plea. Another friend called her 'stupid' and make a few other rude remarks. She did not want to go to school today because of them.

My heart aches for her hurting heart. But I cannot solve these issues for her. The reality is that throughout her entire life, navigating the waters of friendships is an on-going process. Having 'mean' kids verbally assault her is unfortunately part of growing up.

Every Wednesday afternoon for Adam, and every Thursday morning for Elise, I meet with a small group of praying moms and we claim scripture over them using the format of Moms in Prayer International (formerly Moms In Touch). We take an attribute of God and read scriptures about God's love, his patience, his faithfulness, his protection; Him being our helper, a miracle worker, our confidence, our rock, our foundation, our hope, our peace. The list goes on and on. Whether encouraging or correcting, I tell my children over and over who they are in Christ.

As Elise came to me with tears in her eyes about being called stupid, I reminded her of what God says about her: She is fearfully and wonderfully made. She is made in the image of God, She is God's delight. I tell her she is smart, kind, funny, and a good friend. No longer crying, but still looking dejected, I sent her off to school, encouraging her to let her teacher or counselor help her mend those relationships.

Her counselor called me just a few moments ago to tell me how articulate Elise was in explaining her problem. She was able to lovingly explain to these young friends on how her feelings were hurt. And the most amazing, incredible, sweet and God-breathed thing happened.

She recited back to the counselor that she did not deserve those words. That 'my mom said I am sweet, kind, loving and smart because that is what God thinks of me, too.' Yes, she is living in this world, but she is not of this world. And she knows it. And I am proud of her declaring the truth; sharing the gospel, and yes, listening to me. Maybe I am impacting her life more than I thought.

Thank you, God, for the encouragement that I needed today. When so many things can go wrong--so many things left unsaid--and the busyness of life to make us forget to take the time to build up our children (not just correct them), you revealed yourself in a mighty way.

Amen and Amen.

Teaching Our Girls to be Women

Last night, while my daughter was enjoying a play date, I decided to hang out with her mom, Anne, who I like a lot. Anne and I are trying to make an earnest connection between our daughters, who are both in first grade and have known each other since they were 3 years old. We want to hang out more and our daughters are a perfect excuse.

Anne and I are living parallel lives in many respects. Our husbands work for the same company, we are approximately the same age, we've both been married about the same amount of time and we both have sons in 6th grade and daughters in 1st grade. But that is probably where the similarities end. In many respects we are very different. She is liberal, while I am more conservative; she struggles with organization and structure, while I thrive on it. Anne is also more 'girly' than I am in respect to how we dress and do our hair and makeup. I definitely would say that she is more glamorous, and I tend to go with the more natural look.

For the last year, Anne has asked me occasionally if she can give me a makeover She saw potential in me and thought I could accentuate my features more. I have repeatedly turned her down for one reason or another--nothing personal. Just for whatever reason, I haven't been cooperative. Until last night. For about an hour she played with makeup and did my hair, even finding a cute dress that fits my petite frame in her laundry room.

That is a picture of me:  BEFORE. Albeit the picture is a little washed out, I still say it represents me pretty well. For being smack dab in the middle of my 40s, I think I am aging well. I am certainly no raving beauty, but I definitely find that I am aging better in my 40s than I did in my 20s. Here is how I looked AFTER Anne took hold of me.

The picture turned out a little dark, but I definitely think she did a nice job really changing my look. I hardly recognize myself. I actually really do like my hair, which I was not expecting too. The makeup was a little heavy for an everyday look for me, but I want to learn some of the tricks Anne used last night and buy some new makeup to my collection to help achieve this look for a fancy night out. I could potentially learn from Anne what I did not learn from my mom or any other role model.

It was while we were in the midst of the makeover that she and I were talking about being wives and mothers and we both agreed that for the most part, we don't feel like we learned a lot from our mothers on some basic 'womanly' stuff. She and I both agreed that we both have areas of strength and weakness but wonder if we learned it 'nature' versus 'nurture' or taught ourselves. Together, Anne and I would make a pretty complete woman, we joked.

My mom was very neat and tidy while I was growing up, so I think she modeled for me how I wanted to keep house.  As an elementary aged child, I was somewhat of a slob, but then I could spent hours cleaning my room from top to bottom without being asked. As a teenager, I was known to surprise my mom by cleaning the house for 4-5 hours while she was on a date with my dad. As a pre-driving teen, I would spend some Saturdays cleaning house with her, blasting our favorite Neil Diamond albums from the stereo. Gradually, I became interested in 'keeping house'--and really got the itch to keep my surroundings neat and organized when I lived away at college, sharing a small dorm room. Keeping it neat was the only way to survive such a small space.

However, with the exception of the occasional baking, I did not learn to cook from my mom. She modeled being a good cook for our family, preparing dinner almost every night. I cannot recall a time when I really helped her, except for grating cheese or cracking some eggs. My mad cooking skills was really a hands-on learn-by-necessity trade as a new wife and mom.  She also never taught me to iron or sew. My mom had amazing sewing ability. She could fix zippers, buttons, hem lines, etc. She also used to make doll and Barbie clothes, which proves she was very gifted. Ironically, before my mom died, she taught my husband how to use a sewing machine when we inherited my grandma's. Since Tony was in charge of sewing on cub scout badges, I think he was motivated to learn something other than the by-hand methodology. I, on the other hand, can only sew on a button. Other than that, I defer to my uber-talented sewing husband. At least one of us knows how.

As amazing as I think my mom was as a mom and how she exemplified being a model wife, I don't think she trained me in how to be a woman. We talked about The Birds and The Bees but I don't recall her showing me how to apply makeup, do my hair, or how to dress for my petite frame. And, looking back, I can see why I am satisfied with my 'natural' look. I never learned differently. But this lack of training did affect my self-esteem and has impacted many decisions I have made into adulthood, even into my 40s.




Every "Mom and Me' cooking class we take together, or when we complete a chore together, I know I am preparing her to be a woman. Maybe it may be a stereo-typical woman--a feminist may say I am being too old-fashioned in my intentions. But old-fashioned is good in my book. If she chooses a career path that lends itself to her being single and choosing to not have children, the time I have spent with her doing 'womanly' things does not seem wasted to me. It will still create a confidence and a sense of being a well-rounded person. She can bring that confidence into every area of her life.

Even now, I see this gradual shift in her opinion of herself. She wants to grow her hair out from bangs, so taking care of her hair is mandatory at this time. She fixes her own hair every morning, experimenting with different looks. Elise is also intentional in what she wants to wear each day and I see a more feminine side coming out in her. And she is only 7. 

I guess my main point is that the make-over last night really stirred up some unresolved angst about what I was lacking as a teen, and how that lack of self-confidence has manifested itself over and over in various ways into my 40s. Hopefully, I will be a better mom, wife, and person because of it. And help my daughter love herself as much as I love her.

Moving into the 21st Century: One Cassette Tape at a Time

This past October my husband and I did a mini remodel of our house--namely our family room and our master bedroom. The bedroom was always the plan, but the family room was the 'bonus'. While shopping for bedroom furniture, a sofa called to us. We decided to spend a little less on the bedroom set and also buy the sofa, an end table and a coffee table. Free financing for 6 months When our tax refund arrives, we'll pay off the furniture. Sweet!

It was our desperately old bedroom that needed a romantic make-over. Not only was our queen mattress too small, but we figured it was probably 20 years old. Two bad qualities for someone who lives with a sleep disorder.  Free financing a very expensive bed for 3 years justified the amount we paid for it. Especially since we seemed to like to keep our mattresses for 20 years. Our end result was beautiful.

Since I am the anti-hoarder, I loved the ability to purge and clean both rooms until they were sparkly new and organized. Which is actually the point of my blog. I uncovered a dirty, er, dusty little secret in the process. For 7 years I had about 100 cassette tapes neatly tucked away under our coffee table, hidden from view. I was confronted with the reality that I needed to do something with them.

For anyone who might stumble upon my blog and be under the age of 20, cassette tapes were after 8 Track tapes and phonograph records and before CDs. Rather like VHS tapes versus DVDs.  But here's the thing. I did not just throw them out. In the words of Dr. Seuss, I would not, could not throw them here or there, I would not, could not throw them anywhere. Least of all the trash. The reality, sad or not, is that there is a lot of great 70s and 80s music on those tapes. At least half of them were store bought, but a surprising number of them were homemade mix tapes. Just thinking about the money I used to spend back in the 80s buying the 'high quality' Memorex tapes makes me shudder a little. In fact, I recall spending hours taping songs directly from the radio--and having to record my phonograph records onto tapes when stereos no longer came with the turn-table. That was a sad day in the history of my life.  Smart move sound quality-wise but a lot of work. And, though dusty, I have to admit that occasionally I did pull out a tape and play it either in my 2008 van, which still has a tape player, or on one of our two stereo systems, which are just as old as the tapes themselves. Those tapes were not necessarily forgotten, but rather like Monica's closet from Friends.  I figured if they were out of view then they did not need addition. But with the fresh family room, I needed to address the tape collection.

I listened to each tape, many of them older Christian music. Most of those tapes were mixed tapes that my co-worker Dan at the utility company made me. He was our custodian and worked nights. Cleaning my cubicle, he found my stash of Amy Grant, Wayne Watson and Steven Curtis Chapman tapes that I would play quietly as I worked. That sparked a great conversation of our devotion to Christ and to the transforming power of Christian music. It was through Dan that I was introduced to Derek Floyd, Scott Wesley Brown, and David Meece. Dan also quadrupled my Wayne Watson collection, and added to other favorites like Matthew Ward, Larnell Harris, Petra and Kathy Troccolli. Playing these classic artists from the early 90s made me miss that music era again.

Living where we do, I am fortunate that we have an amazingly wonderful Christian music station. And for 20 years I have been a faithful listener through its name changes and signal changes. But their music changes as well, and while contemporary, I wish they would go back to playing some 'oldies'. I love Chris Tomlin, Jeremy Camp, Casting Crowns, MercyMe and Newsboys as much as anyone. But the earlier music is so powerful, too. It is a shame that with the resurgence of 80s music on any radio station in the country, my local Christian station does not play some classic Michael English, Steven Curtis Chapman, Steve Green, New Song and 4 Him on a regular basis. You get my idea.

Intermingled with the Christian music is the standard soft rock music from days gone by: Rick Springfield, Loverboy, Foreigner, Journey, Def Leppard, KISS, Depeche Mode. What can I say? I am a diverse music lover.  There was some great stuff that I had clearly forgotten about and had replaced by more current music Cd's to play. What is a girl to do?!?

I downsized. After listening to some of the music, I realized that I could purge a few, like Brian Barrett, Sierra and Point of Grace. They did not stand the test of time. But there was a long list of artists that I knew I wanted to replace the mixed tape with a true CD. So for my birthday, I looked through the clearance and 'oldies' section of Wal Mart, Target, Best Buy and K-Mart and replaced what I could find. I found a decent number of them available for usually less than $7 per CD--a few even at $2.99. The Right Price. Sweet. (Bemused or irritated that these artists fell under 'oldies'....well, whatever. I suppose at some point I would be considered in the 'older' generation.)

itunes gift card, where I was able to take some of the individual songs I preferred and get rid of the actual full cassette tape from where they originated.

After three months, my chore is completed. Spending too much money on myself (but using birthday and Christmas as my excuse), I have been able to get rid of about 60 of the tapes. I still have about 25 store bought cassettes from artists whose music I like, but think the tape is 'good enough'. Plus I have about 15 mixed tapes that are so mixed that to replace them would cost more than I care to spend, although I like them well enough to keep. I also still have a 2 page 'wish list' of CDs I hope to eventually purchase, and individual songs to buy from itunes slowly, over time. Between furniture and music, I am over budget and out of money. Maybe by the end of this year I will have collected them all, which averages out to about one or two Cd's a month, plus a few individual songs at a time.

Being a sensible person, I did not throw out any of the store quality tapes. Those I will either put on Freecycle or wait for our next book and tape drive at my daughter's school. They are still great music--just an outdated version. I am sure I can find a new owner of the classic music. Someone else who needs to move out of the 80s but will be 'tickled pink' to find them.

I can claim to be officially in the Y2K era though. As for the small collection of VHS tapes I still have. OK, I am still a work in progress as far as THAT goes. I'll get there eventually, too.

Introspection on Blogging

If there is a new word of this particular decade that sums up life, I would have to say "BLOGGER" or "BLOGGING' is probably up close to the top of the list. With something like 50 million bloggers, it is not a unique craft, a unique idea, and probably, there's not a new topic not already written about. Even sites that don't consider themselves being blogs, but rather news sources, are probably still in the blog category. They just know how to fancify their site and earn money while doing what they love to do. Write.

I started blogging 2 1/2 yrs. ago and I did it earnestly, with passion, and often. Like a good sex life, I suppose. But then I thought I would take it to the next level. I started writing for two on-line sites. One is found at www.stlfamilylife.com and the other is www.townandcountry-manchester.patch.com. I stopped finding time to write just for me. Between having 2 kids, a husband and 4 pets, trying to balance home life with writing life, something had to give. It was my blog sites.

Contrary to what some people may believe, I don't get paid. It's all just a way to get what I like to write about more exposure than the few followers that I have. Instead of having dozens of people reading my work, I have hundreds. I like those odds. But here is the thing. At some point I had hoped to turn them into paying gigs. I've gotten some good feedback from my published articles, which are sometimes informative, and other times, just entertaining. But nobody wants to pay you for your work.
I am not complaining. I appreciate the opportunity to get that experience. But after a year and a half, I feel like I am running out of good topics, or feeling the pressure to produce articles on a weekly basis--and not always feeling very appreciated in the process. Editors are quite honest about wanting to pay as little as possible for their contributors. If I had 'discovered' my passion for writing even a few years ago, I might have been able to make this a paying job.

So I have taken a leave from writing on a weekly schedule and I want to start blogging again. Just for me. On whatever topic tickles my fancy. Most likely I will turn my attention to my other blog site, which is found at www.bonsheart.blogspot.com, which I encourage you to check out if you haven't. I write about my mom's history, which is a gut-wrenching, unique, and yet beautiful, story of her life. Both as a child and as an adult. She passed away 4 years ago and it's a great way to keep her memory alive. There is a lot I don't say about her. There is a lot of pain in the 17 months leading up to her death that I won't ever share in public. Way too personal. But she is part of a history that is literally dying. She would have been 74 this week. Having been part of the post ww2 genocide, she would be among the youngest of the survivors of this era. Rather like there only being 8 survivors left of Pearl Harbor attack--or the last Titanic survivor dying.In another decade there may be no more Russian Red Army genocide survivors from the mid to late 1940's. Very sad.

While I am not giving up on writing for the other sites, I hope to get these two blogs up and running more frequently again, because I do have a lot to say. And the forum to say it. Maybe it is better if it is on my personal website and not edited by someone who may not like me mentioning God or Jesus.

Thank you to my regular followers, and for all the strangers who happen to stumble upon my blog. I wish I had more comments on my plethora of posts so I could get feedback. More followers would be nice, too. Just to know that there are 'regulars' out there who genuinely find enjoyment from my posts.

So thank you, readers, for, well, reading my work. And I hope to see a lot more of you in 2012. You will definitely see a lot more of me in 2012 as well.

A Celebration of Veteran's from my Present and Past

Another article I wrote in remembrance of my family Veteran's history.

http://townandcountry-manchester.patch.com/blog_posts/celebrating-the-veterans-in-our-lives-past-or-present

Tribute on the Death of Bil Keane

I am attaching a link to an article I wrote for an on-line newsmagazine I write for weekly.

I miss my friend of 32 years. 

http://townandcountry-manchester.patch.com/blog_posts/bil-keane-not-just-a-cartoonist-but-a-friend

What was Lost was Found: Who was Lost is still Lost

When I think back to that last Sunday in July, it isn't my 11 year old son's baptism that comes to mind. Although it was a glorious day, one filled with God's love, faithfulness and pride as a parent--certainly worthy of its own blog--it is over-shadowed by an internal conversation I had with myself later that night.

As on most Sundays, I wore my silver cremation necklace. It is a necklace that I wear on a regular basis, especially on the days where I am missing my mom--whose ashes it contains. The 4th year anniversary of her death was quickly approaching and wearing my cross during that particular season of my life has always brought comfort, where words might otherwise fail. And for whatever reason, I miss my mom on Sundays more than any other day of the week.

But on this Sunday, as I removed the necklace from around my neck and hung it back into my jewelry case, I made a mental note that it would be at least another week before I would wear it again. The kids and I were taking a week long trip to visit friends, while my husband stayed behind to work and take care of our pets. He was preparing for one of his regular trips overseas and the additional, uninterrupted work time would help him; while a little get-away was just what the kids and I needed. That internal dialogue included the fact that I knew the necklace would stay behind. Too precious to accidentally lose or misplace while traveling. I was leaving it safely behind. Or so I thought.

About 4 days after returning from our trip, I reached for my necklace, which was a day shy of the 4th year anniversary. It was missing. Piece by piece, I emptied my jewelry box of each hanging necklace. Determined that it should be exactly where I remember hanging it, I was instantly reduced to tears. There were few pieces of jewelry that held sentimental value, but this was one of them. I was unusually careful with it.

Calling my husband that morning at work, he confirmed that I had not left it laying out during our vacation; he had not seen it or done anything with it. It was then that I knew it had been stolen.  And here is where it gets complicated.

Because I knew Tony would be working long hours, we had friends and neighbors lined up throughout the week during the day to take care of Snickers and give him potty breaks and some play time. They had access to our house. However, during that same week, another person who we trusted was allowed in the house and had the same access to my jewelry. In my heart, I knew it was stolen by that trusted person. In the interest of privacy and not vilifying that person, I will not name them by name. Herein known as 'him' or 'he' only, my story continues.

The news was devastating. Occurring on the wake of a painful anniversary was dealing with the hurt, frustration and anger I felt that someone close to us could be so bold as to steal from me. Grieving for my mom was replaced by grieving for the loss of an irreplaceable piece of jewelry. Tony and I briefly talked about pressing charges, but we knew that in the interest of doing a thorough investigation, police would have to also speak to our friends and neighbors whom we had charged with caring for Snickers. It was not fair to them to be 'suspects'. We needed to handle this privately.

Tony lovingly confronted 'the suspect' with the disappearance of this jewelry and was met with a reaction of disgust and anger that we would 'accuse' him. He expected an apology from me when the necklace was found. In the interest of making sure that I had not made some monumental error, a day later I spent 5 hours in our bedroom looking for the necklace. I literally tore the room apart. From taking the mattress and box springs off the bed, to removing every piece of clothing in every drawer; unfolding all the extra sets of bedding in storage under our bed. We moved every piece of furniture from against the wall. No stone was left unturned. It was definitely gone.

One last time I emptied my jewelry box. It was then I noticed a second piece was missing. Like some cruel joke, I could not believe that another cross had been taken. One that my mom had given me the Christmas 10 years before her death. She had been given the cross at her own catholic confirmation in Schalding, Germany, while living in a refuge camp in 1949. They would immigrate to the United States the following year.  This 62 year old cross did not have a chain. It sat solitary in a ring holder, next to another cross I had purchased for myself years earlier. That one was untouched.

Just two days after discovering the cremation necklace gone, one day after the anniversary of her death, I am hit with the confirmation that the disappearance was not neglect or carelessness on my part; they were indeed stolen. And both pieces irreplaceable--a part of my mom's memory and life. I remember sitting there dazed; trying to comprehend that not only had they both been stolen, but they were the two most precious pieces of my limited jewelry collection.  Ironically, my pearl necklace and earrings were still there. My diamond earrings untouched. Certainly he did not know the sentimental value of what he took. It was just a cruel twist of fate that he was drawn to the unique pieces that were associated with my mom and the timing of it all.

My loving husband contacted all the area pawn shops within nearby proximity of where the person of interest lived. Sending an e-mail with a picture of the necklace (off the website from which it was purchased) and a picture of whom we presumed would hock them, we hoped that the necklace and/or person would be identified.  It took probably 10 days but then we received an e-mail. The cremation necklace was located, the seller of said necklace postively ID'd. The bad news was that the necklace had already been sold. The good news? The owner was able to get the cross portion holding the ashes back from whom he had sold it. The silver rope chain was gone, however. As for the 62 year old cross, he said I could look through what he had acquired in the previous month and I was encouraged to retrieve my items free of charge. With no picture, he did not know if the gold cross was still in his shop.

With my husband now already on his business trip, I ventured to the upscale jewelry pawn shop on my own that Monday morning. With emotions too strong for words, I reclaimed the cremation cross, holding it tightly--thankful for the kind pawn shop owner who took the time to do the right thing. He could have said that it had already been sold and he was unable to get it back. But he didn't. He presumably lost money by retrieving it for me. But his generous heart did not stop there. Before me lay about half dozen gold crosses. Immediately, I was able to rule out the ones that were not my mom's. But I hesitated. There was one that I was 99 percent sure was hers. But honestly, I could not say with 100 percent certainty it was the one. Crosses were dime a dozen, often hocked; easily purchased. Still, I continued to hold the cross and question if it belonged to me. "Take it", Albert said (his name changed for privacy) "If you walk away without it, you'll regret it. If your heart is telling you it's yours, then it is. Don't second guess it." With tears in my eyes, I thanked him for helping me out.

Still, having those back in my possession did not 'fix' everything.  The one who stole it lied to us--not once but twice. After reclaiming them, Tony called him back. Told him we found the items and he had been ID'd. He still denied it. Just like Peter denying Christ three times by the time the rooster crowed, this person was caught red-handed and yet still had the hutzpah to claim innocence. My heart broke.

Perhaps a day later, this person called Tony again, while he was still away on business. In a tearful apology, he finally confessed his guilt. Apologizing to Tony, but not to me was a slap in the face. He had assumed that since we were rich and he has nothing, we would never notice those pieces missing. As if his lack of work ethic and productivity in life justified stealing from us. It did not matter that we trusted him in our home despite a strained relationship in the past. Tony extended grace and accepted his apology but said the right thing to do was to apologize to me.

It has been a month and that apology has not come, nor will it ever, I'm sure.

Which is why I feel burdened enough on this dreary Sunday afternoon to write about this experience. At first I felt violated. How much had he cased our house, looking for 'hockable' items? Or did he go straight for the gold and silver? And how to do I forgive when he hasn't asked for my forgiveness? Several other more pressing situations have happened since the disppearance of the two crosses, which deflected from the importance of his betrayal. In the grand scheme of things, I got my valued jewelry back. No harm was done. Still, I'm finding myself angry again. Where is the apology that he would have expected from me?

For me, the relationship is severed. And this person will have no further contact with my two children. The relationship he has with Tony is more personal. How much damage was done for him is not for me to say. Or for me to judge. All I know is that Tony and I agreed he will not be allowed in our home again--or near our kids again. Ever. Not without a God-breathed, time tested and trued change of heart and mind and soul. And the kind of life-changing authentic apology that you know comes from a changed person.

The Bible calls me to forgive. After looking at his past, I can see why he ventured down this ugly, law-breaking path. I can see why his life lead to this point.  But for my healing alone, I need to reach a point of forgiveness. But I will not forget. And I will not be so naive to think that at this point he realizes the depth of what he did wrong. He is not sorry for the fact he stole. He is sorry that he got caught, and harmed his relationship with Tony.  His apology was never about the act of stealing--or the violation against me. No reparation has truly been made in my eyes. He is Godless and heartless.

The cremation cross sits without a chain in my jewelry box. Whereas I used to wear it several days per week, I cannot look at it without pain and hurt. I visualize him stuffing it carelessly in his pocket, offering it for a price to Albert. Another woman wearing the cross that holds a piece of my mom. It's tainted now. Somehow I need to work through this by finding another unique chain and wearing it again. But right now, the thought brings me pain, which outweighs the comfort and the closeness I felt by wearing it.

I grieve today for what he took from me. Maybe this sounds ultra-dramatic and I'm making a big fuss over nothing. Perhaps no one can relate. But it's truly the way I feel. But the Bible tells us in Matthew 10 that we are to take up our cross and follow Jesus. So when I look at the crosses that were taken from me, I need to remember the cross that was given to me by his sacrifice on the his cross that was for my salvation and to forgive me of my sins. And maybe one day that person will understand what pain he caused and accept the free gift of forgiveness. From Jesus. And from me.