Christmas Eve

Today I will begin to cook my Christmas Eve early supper

as the kids and grand girls will be here for supper!

It is such a hard thing these days to get together as

they each have their own families that they want

to share their Christmas mornings with.

What is the menu?

A ham, rice dressing, oyster dressing, potato salad

and homemade Chocolate Chip oatmeal cookies.

Not a big menu but for us 8, it shall be plenty.

This gathering has me realizing just how much has

changed since Christmases past.

When your children are little and you have the 

decisions on where to spend it.

Half of those Christmases, their Dad was working

but we always made a visit to his family on this morning.

We usually had Christmas lunch as sister, Veronica

with the rarity ones being at my house.

Christmas Eve, was almost always at C and Ted's who

at that time lived in the family home in Golden Meadow.

I can say we had some lovely Christmases.

Uncle Luke and Aunt Tim would always stop by

after Christmas Eve mass as was Ted's parents.

So many people, so many conversations, so many children

begging to open presents. When Mom lived next door,

we always took the walk there for her to give out

her gifts. It was great memories!

Now Christmases are being separated as now

those who were little children then, have their own wives 

and children and want to begin their own memories.

Don't blame them as there were some Christmases that

I would have liked to stay home on that morning, in PJ's

playing with the kids and their toys.

Yet, the memories we made and the fun we had,

games in the afternoon, naps for the men who had a little too much

turkey. It gave for many memories.

I am happy for our little gathering tomorrow and

today I will begin to bake remembering Christmas past

and looking forward to Christmas future.

Merry Christmas to you all!

A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS....

Today is 

BESTIE CHRISTMAS DAY!

It may not be official on your Calendar

But on my, and these two, it is there.

How fortunate are we to have had BFF's 

since second grade?

I could go on and on about how many things we have

done together, how many tragedies we have overcome together,

instead I will say this.

At least twice a year myself and my girls gather

for a lunch, movie, shopping, etc.

But more than that almost daily we are in contact via

text or phone and I am proud of that.

Proud that in our busy lives, with so much going on

in each our personal lives, we still have

put each other on the "Pro side"

of our lists.

I look forward to this day as I did all others with these gals.

To have life long friends who you know has your

back for any thing that should come up.

I am blessed beyond measure in many aspects of my life,

but when speaking of these two....

they definitely are...

"...two of my favorite things..."

ANOTHER DEATH...

Waking this morning to the remembrance that

my Aunt GaGald (Glorise), my Dad's sister

passed away yesterday. My Dad was one of 9 and

now only one aunt remains although we buried her husband,

Uncle Roy last month.

This Aunt was very special to me as her home,

with her hubby, Uncle Red and her four children were

where myself and my family spent lots of time during

my childhood cancer years.

The family lived in Chalmette, Louisiana and owned

their own Air Conditioning business.

So many childhood memories surround their lives as

the one thing I always looked forward to when 

having to go into the hospital was my night or two at their home.

She was elegant, she was classy, always a wonderful dresser

but not afraid to work hard and get her hands dirty.

I was not always a pleasure to be around back in those days.

I could throw a tantrum with the best of them

when I would refuse the medicines that I needed to take

before a check up procedure.

There was one time in particular that I was giving both my

parents a hard time about it. She relieved my parents

and took the problem on head on. I thought maybe

she would fuss me, tell me how ungrateful I was but she did not.

She walked into that room where I was pouting

took me in her arms and rocked me on that bed.

She told me how unfair it was that I had to do all these tests

but no one could live their lives if something happened to me.

She worked on my soft emotions that I had even back then.

She then gave me the meds that I took without fuss.

This was my aunt, always so patient with me.

I have written a few blogs about her and her family.

This is a recap of one of those blogs:

I thought they were rich because of the wonderfully smelling

pink soap called Ponds.

The Bath always smelled like that beautiful bar.

Our home only had cheap white soap as we

had so many bodies to clean.

I remember pledging that when I grew up I 

would only use Ponds soap.

I kept that promise to myself to this day.

The first time I blogged about this,

my cousin Faye informed me that they did not

use Ponds because they had an overabundance of cash

but because it was the only soap back then the did not leave

tub rings. Touche'.

Since then, my aunt has buried that wonderful cousin, Faye.

She also buried her baby boy, Dwayne many years ago

when he died well before his time.

Now my two living cousins, Dela and Bert find themselves

the only two left from their immediate family.

I can imagine their feelings as no matter how

old you are, you are never ready to loose your Mom.

Dela has told me she went peacefully and I know it has to 

be just a tad easier believing that she will now be with 

her wonderful hubby, Uncle Red and two of her children,

Fay and Dwayne.

My heart is heavy with this death, how I loved her.

In February, the last gathering myself, Randy and the grandgirls

went to in Golden Meadow was our last visit.

As always, she was dressed elegantly with the sharpest of minds.

She wanted to share a story about the cancer days.

She started with, "Sit down Lil, I want to share a story with you..."

She went on to share that one day she and my Mom were

staying at the hospital with me. I had been very sick that

night after Chemotherapy. She said I was so weak I could

barely hold my head up. My Mom asked her to help bathe

me and put a fresh night gown on me.

Explaining when she pulled the soiled night gown and saw

just how thin I was, that she could count every rib, could

see the radiation burns on my abdomen. She finished with

after I was cleaned and resettled she literally had to 

leave the room to cry and be sick herself.

I share this story not for my part in it but for her part.

She loved me so very much that just the site 

of me being so sick touched her so deeply.

While it was not the happiest of stories we then talked

of just how far I have come, how blessed my life has been

and I thank her. I tell her my memories I share here with you all now.

I know without her and her family's acts of kindness bestowed

on my whole family, life would have been much more complicated

than it already was.

My Aunt GaGald, classy, elegant, beautiful,

she will be missed so very much but many parts of her

will live on, not just inside myself but all those who knew her, 

loved her, was blessed just knowing her.

Dela and Bert, I know these days are hard for you all.

Not many have to bury so many of their immediate family

to be the only two left standing but one thing I know,

you two cared for my dear Aunt until her last breath.

I love you two so very much.

RIP my dear Aunt!

(Aunt GAGAld, to my left in February, still dressing so 

classy. On my right, my only aunt left on Dad's side,

and sweet JoJo who came in for the photo.)

Matter of Perspective

A few days ago, driving into my driveway,

I had a view of my backyard.

To me, it looked messy with all the dead leaves covering the ground from

my few trees and bushes.

My grass cutters only cut when needed and

I am not one to rake up the leaves that

embody my back yard.

It's winter, it is the way a most yards look

at this time of year.

When I was married there was never a leaf on

the ground as Ron liked a well manicured yard.

 It looks messy to me but not enough 

to care. That very afternoon I have Jilly 

for a few hours between choir and gymnastics.

She get out the car and she says,

"Mumsie, stop and stand right here"

I stand near her looking out into 

my and Mrs. Shirley's back yard.

She goes on,

" It looks like a winter Christmas card with 

all the leaves and empty trees"

I look at it again and I still only see a yard

looking messy full of leaves with little greenery.

I tell her this.

She still stands there, puts up both hands

as though she is looking through a lens.

"No, Mumsie you have to look at both the

yards together, it's so pretty it"

and then I do.

I stand there by her and I take in my and Mrs. Shirleys'

back yard and I see the Photo image she sees 

in her mind and she is right.

It is a beautiful sight, reminding us that 

season are for reasons.

I am proud of the fact that my grand girl

has the eye of an artist, who can see beauty 

where most just see messy yards.

Thanks Jilly for that eye opener.

When he returns...

Monday afternoon, Kd called to ask if the girls could

come hang out here while she saw a patient and until 

their Dad got back from work.

Yes! I had been having a few down days and I guess I needed

the "fix" that the girls give me.

I set up quickly ugly sweater cookie kit,

popped popcorn and sunny D.

Kd brought in JoJo and wheel chair 

and right away all three got into decorating cookies.

As their Dad was coming home to start his 45 days 

of vacation, they were all a little excited.

Jilly made the comment,

"I always get the first hug"

and went on to explain why as she is the oldest,

she is faster and she knows that he is back before

the other two. Their whole lives, their Dad has

gone away for two weeks and off for two weeks.

It was their Dad's and Jesi's way of life as well

so it is a normal thing for them.

However, to say they don't miss him during that time is

an understatement.

We were doing art work when we heard the door bell ring

and Jilly right away ran to the door,

proving her analogy as to why she gets the first hug.

What I got to witness though that touched me the most

was not so much the reaction of the grand girls

but the reaction of their Dad, my son, my first born.

The minute he saw Jilly, he began to giggle, laugh,

he laughed the whole time as he greeted each of

his little girls individually and continued to laugh

 and smile while he loaded them into his truck. 

I once again realized just how very lucky these

three little girls are, to have the parents they have.

A Momma who holds down the fort when their Dad 

is at work and a hands on Dad who is always so very

happy to come home to them.

I saw first hand just how much he loves these girls.

It made my heart happy, it reminded me that

his Dad and I, we were far from perfect, but we must

have done somethings right  to raise a man

who can genuinely love his girls to the point that

they know he has their back always.

...Be Patient....

It is a curious thing, that a title of a book you find at

a thrift store can bring back a memory you had stored

so deep in your heart, you completely forgot it.

So begins this blog.

This book's title...

Let me set up the background.

I was born to older parents, my Mom was 43 and Dad 45

when I was born, the baby of 7 children with 23 years

between my oldest sibling and myself.

So to say I was spoiled is an understatement.

The fact that I was also a sickly child, battling cancer

added to the spoiling. 

Yet by the time I was a teenager, well my Dad was just tired.

He had diabetes he did not monitor, he had

been shot in WWII in his leg and was always just a tad

miserable. I always felt loved but he and Momma 

had kind of lost the toughness of a parent.

I knew I was loved but the words were not said often.

I think I was a Sophomore when some episode happened

which I can't recall today, but I knew

my Dad was disappointed in my for something.

I felt like I could not talk to him at this point.

I wanted to somehow get across that I was sorry

but I just could not say those words.

When he was upset with us, he rarely fussed, he would just

get really quiet, shutting us out. 

I was feeling so down about it.

One afternoon during this time, I was getting ready to do 

my homework, (yes I sometimes did my homework)

and my composition had a cover that said,

"BE PATIENT WITH ME, GOD ISN'T FINISHED WITH ME YET"

Somehow I felt this would tell him that I was sorry,

I didn't mean to hurt him, I so didn't want him to be disappointed in me.

I tore off the cover and placed it on the kitchen table where he sat every

morning, waking at 4 am probably for the peace and quiet 

before the masses awakened.

I went to bed that night nervous but feeling good about 

the apology.

The next morning, as I came down the 22 steps that would

lead me to the kitchen for breakfast, i saw a frame

sitting on the end of the banister.

When I got down, I realized he had not only saw

my composition cover but had put it in 

a frame and placed it where we all would see it

each time we passed by the stairs.

There it sat until I think he passed away when I was 20,

"BE PATIENT, GOD ISN'T FINISHED WITH ME YET"

That day I asked him about it and he chuckled,

something he rarely did towards the last years of 

his life.

He didn't say much, all I remember him saying was

We all need to remember that.

Yes, the title of a simple book brought me right

where this memory lived, deep in my heart

to be brought to the surface to remind us all,

to be patient, God is not finished with us yet.

MY UNCLE ROY...

I did not think, on Sunday, when I spent

some time with my first cousin, Reggie at

Mr. Bill's birthday party that before the

week was out he would loose his own Father.

My Uncle Roy Eserman, passed away on Tuesday, 11/19/19.

The text from Reggie, reading"

"MY WONDERFUL FATHER JUST PASSED AWAY"

Memories flooded my mind and heart.

When people speak of Eclectic personalities,

well Uncle Roy's name may be near the definition.

My whole entire life, this man not only sang at our 

hometown church, but led the choir for all my years.

I will never walk into my church, Our Lady Of Prompt Succor,

 for the first 40 years of my life and not expect

to hear his voice. I don't know if he ever missed a weekend

mass or a funeral to lead the choir in our small town 

of Golden Meadow. Everyone on the bayou knew him

for his love of church hymns, his singing and his 

preaching of the Bible.

The family story is that he wanted to be a Priest but 

could not learn the Latin language that was needed

back then. Then he met my Aunt Jeanette, the baby 

of my Daddy's siblings and the relationship began and

lasted until he took his last breath.

Their relationship was also an odd one but there was

no doubt they loved each other in their own way.

Aunt Jeannie fussed and sometimes cussed and he

prayed, always. lol To watch them was entertainment

but there is nothing this man would not do for his wife.

When talking to him, if he was not teaching about the

Bible or how he felt of life after this one, he was

bragging about his Sons and/or their families.

Having been a treasured child himself, he was so very 

glad he left his boys with each a sibling.

Just a few months ago, we had a family gathering 

in Golden Meadow at his home.

That day he was not feeling so good but good enough

to preach the Word to me.

"You going to go to purgatory, Lilly. Everyone goes.

If St. Theresa had to go to Purgatory we all going to go.

How long we stay will depend on how we lived."

I chuckled as I remembered my whole life,

he has been the one who taught me the most

of what he believed in about "life after".

I must say here though, that he and my Aunt Jeanette

played a big role in the life of myself when I was in

the hospital for 12 weeks straight.

They took in my two sister, Celena and Rosie

for the majority of the time while my parents stayed 

with me. MY sister, Rosie speaks of the fact

that it was our Uncle Roy who taught her how to kneel

and pray. She says he prayed with them every night

for their little sister who was battling an incurable cancer.

Evidently the Big Man heard as I am still here.

Two years ago, Uncle Roy was so ill none of us thought 

he would survive it, He was so sick in ICU.

One morning, while walking off the elevator,

Cousin Reggie, heard someone singing with a loud 

and clear voice:

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the song..."

He shared with me that his first thought was

that it could not be his Daddy as he was barely talking

the day before.

Yet as he entered his Daddy's room it was his Daddy,

singing strongly like he had not done for a long time.

I visited the day after this small miracle and

heard the story first hand from Reggie.

Combine that story with the one I spoke of previously 

about us all going to Purgatory, and allow me to

share with you all what happened in my presence yesterday.

It was Thanksgiving mass yesterday with the Grandgirls.

Weighing heavy on my heart was my Eserman relatives.

I walked into church, settled down with the grandgirls

on each side of me, and offered up

this mass to my Uncle Roy.

 The 5th grade class makes

their way up to the altar and on their small

recorder instruments they blow out the song

AMAZING GRACE!

Yes, I got tearful. then mass started and the children's choir

sings Amazing Grace!

I knew my Uncle was sending comfort. 

The mass ended with this beautiful song and as i sang

through wet eyes, I realized these words could have been 

written for my dear Uncle Roy.

He had his ways, but he led more to the church than

anyone I knew. He did not only talk the talk, he

walked the walk and although he could be pushy 

about his faith, he believed all he said.

As I sat in that church with me littles near me

I say to him,

"You made it Uncle Roy, and with these signs

I know you were wrong about purgatory,

you my Uncle went straight to Heaven,

this mass is your way of telling me this.

Tomorrow we bury this man who if he could,

would say he lived a wonderful life.

That he loved his boys and his wife and his 

grand children. That his life was not always easy

but he never faltered on his belief of God.

RIP Uncle Roy, dance and sing you heart out,

and I hope when my time comes, if

I do spend some time in Purgatory, you will not be there,

having already made your way to your Heaven.

(Their 50th wedding anniversary)

Pleas pray for my cousins, Reggie and Jude, their families

and most especially my Aunt Jeannie who has

never done anything without this man by her side.

Another Veteran's Day for the books!

 Yesterday, Veteran's Day of 2019 was a success!

Right here, in our little town of Plaquemine,

hundreds of people turned out to come and celebrate

all the Veterans. 

Jilly, being in St. John Children's Choir,

was invited to sing for all these people who

came out to celebrate.

I must say, Plaquemine knows how to put on

a Veteran's Day celebration!

As I and Maw Maw, Cathy Guilbeau,

watched and listened to all the speakers

and then watched our Jilly sing,

I was filled with so many thoughts.

Thoughts on just how many people I know that are Veterans,

Thoughts on a life of service is not just about the one

who serves but the whole families,

The wives/husband's who stay home to continue 

to do all those things that need to be done

for their children, parents, etc.

I am watching this young choir, sitting in the heat,

awaiting their time to perform,

and I am hit with the thought that most of these 

children are not really sure what Veteran's Day means.

I think to myself, most of them have not been

affected because of a War. A few of them have had

a parent or grandparent serving time away from them

but the majority are naively not aware of

the sacrifice these men and women have played

on their lives. That most selflessly, went into

a service so as to protect these children and

even us adults.

My Daddy was in WW II so we grew up

very patriotic, most of this generation, I hope,

will never know what a true war means.

And for that I am grateful.

Thank you to all you service people, no matter what

branch of service you chose or that which chose you.

Thank you all that my little granddaughter,

as she waits to perform for some of you,

has no fear of her safety to her country.

That she and her sisters may be the generation

that does not see war, that the only pain

they will ever have to worry about when it comes

to the safety of their Country

is how hot it is as they wait to perform.

It was a beautiful day to celebrate all you Veterans:

HOME OF THE FREE BECAUSE OF THE BRAVE!

Visits to the Cottage...

There are many things in my life that I am proud of,

one is my Cottage. It is the first home I have owned on 

my own, I have made it scream my name on arrival.

Anyone who knows me just a little bit can walk into the cottage

and see that it is I who lives here.

Another thing, is the first time I have someone visit

the cottage, I feel like a tour guide, having to show

each room, explain different decor, I swear I am

a mess. Recently I have had two friends visit

the cottage for the first time.

I hope they enjoyed the tour as much as I did.

This morning I find this post:

Yes! that is me and the cottage!!

All my little collections, all the books

in the library and the studio is what make me, me

and the Cottage mine.

Anytime I am showing the studio I say,

"If this room is ever clean it is a bad sign

because it means I am not creating.

So,yes, I don't have a mess,

I have ideas lying around everywhere!

I will never again ask forgiveness for

the state of the Cottage.

It is this place that has my creativity flowing!

Me....

Yesterday....

My young daughter turned thirty!!

Yes.... the Big 3 -0!

With that birthday comes many thoughts.

For instance,

"How can I have a thirty-four and thirty year old children?"

Like that just does not seem possible.

When they were young and had no choice but to 

see me everyday, I hated when people would say,

"Enjoy it, it passes fast!"

Yeah, If it passes so fast them come here before I 

hurt these kids who just broke my favorite lamp

with a football, in the house.....

"When I just finished saying,

"Don't be throwing that football in the house!"

All kidding aside, I say it now as well

because the facts are, it does pass fast and

you will awaken one day to find that you really

are old enough to have these kids, who are now adults.

I still cry when I hear Stevie Nicks sing LANDSLIDE.

Yep, every time, it still catches me by surprise.

I am 56 years old, living the best life possible,

having found my place in the artisan world with the 

home portraits. I think of death more than I have in my whole life.

Not that I am afraid of dying, more afraid of the journey 

from point A to point B.

With that said, I find myself being very content most days,

other days stressed because I just can't spread myself any

thinner, but I go into the studio, brush in hand, audiobook on

and loose myself in the day.

If I had to explain myself in a sentence now that I am in the slide down

of my 50's, it would be the one above.

I believe I have always lived with an old soul

and sometimes pray, that whatever happens after this life,

we do get to do "life" again in some capacity

because....

I would like to have days again,

where every morning I have my own children looking 

lovingly at me saying,

"What's for breakfast, where is my school bag"

Visiting friends, Mr. Bill

Found myself in thibodaux again yesterday with lots of

things to do, one being taking photos of homes I will be painting.

As I drive into Waverly Place, I think of my friend, Patricia.....

"Are you Home" 

my text goes out to her, 

"Yes!"

"I am in your neighborhood, coming visit"

and I did, an added blessing, her little, Em was home

as well for Fall break! A senior now, I was her "Nurse Lilly"

for many years. 

I surprised them with a visit they surprised me with Em.

I over talked just like I always do, they listened like they always do.

Yet, I could tell my dear friend needed some hugging and loving on 

this day, Was happy to provide both!

Excuse the next photo, worst shot ever, but

I also visited Mr. Bill Pitre who broke his hip and recently had surgery.

How I know Mr. Bill, oh in so many ways. 

First, her daughter, Celeste and I graduated from South Lafourche

together, then when we both lived in Thibodaux we reconnected and

became good friends. That friendship took even a bigger twist 

when her Dad, Mr. Bill moved into St. Joseph Manor where my Mom 

was living at the time. 

Mr. Bill will be 90 in just 6 weeks, hurry up, rehab,

we have a a party to go to! 

Mr. Bill is special to me in many ways. We both are

artists, his came on later in life when he found that his terrible

sight was restored in a story he tells as a miracle.

He began drawing and I am proud to own one of his pieces.

The best reason Mr. Bill has a special place in my heart,

the morning after my Mom passed away at the Manor,

It was him I saw coming down the hall with his walker

shaking his head "NO"

I had cried some of course, but when I saw this man,

who had become such a good friend to my Mom in the

months they lived together and a friend to me as well,

I broke down in his hug, I know I wet his shoulder with my

tears, but my shoulder was wet as well as he broke down

on the loss my Mom, reminding me that she was not just

our Mom but friends to many. 

Since her passing I try and visit Mr. Bill when I can.

Each time I visit, I am fussed because it has been too long.

Celeste and I have remained good friends, texting often.

So, yesterday, I text,

"Is Dad still in hospital? Can I visit"

"Yes, please do he would love to see you!"

First I stop to buy him a new sketch pad, colored pencils,

pencil sharpener. 

I mean what else do you bring a fellow artist when he is stuck

in the hospital.

As I enter his room, he is asleep with Celeste at his side.

The minute he hears me he awakens and a big smile spreads

across his face.

"What you will do to get me to visit, a broken hip, really?"

We laugh and he agrees. I visit for about an hour,

Celeste and I and her wonderful Dad and I 

am honored that I have friends of all ages.

I can tell he is getting tired, I kiss and say my goodbyes.

I am not home yet, when I get this photo on text from

Celeste....

My Mr. Bill already drawing with his new supplies 

and it makes me smile, it makes my eyes wet,

to know he has something to do on these long days

awaiting the body to heal.

In 6 weeks this man will be 90, I tell him 

"Hurry up and heal, we have a party to attend!"

Friends, loved ones come in all shapes, sizes and ages 

and I am blessed with so many!

Another message from another level of life....

I say to so many, 

"I don't just paint portrait of homes,

unusual and beautiful things happen with each portrait"

Last week, those small miracles I speak of that we tend

to chalk up to coincidence is one I just have to blog about.

Because the home portrait is a gift I can't give too much away,

but let me tell the story as it happens.

Another concept that many know is that I pray

and question my client lots during their painting process.

So much so that I wonder if that client doubts my ability 

to paint the home. I just want to make sure I get everything right,

I want each client not to only be pleased but to also 

feel a pull at their heart strings when they see the real thing.

Photo's via phone just does them no justice.

With all that background, last week, I am finishing

up an order, adding on extra pieces that make my 

painting mixed media rather than just a painting.

I add established dates, keys, names, street address...

I ask this client, also a friend, Nicol,
 who is ordering for a family member who is a widower,

"Is there any sign they receive from their spouse on the other

side to let them know all is well?"

This family home is being sold because the owner is

just getting to an age that they can no longer keep up the home.

I know she is struggling with this decision as well 

as the family. As I await the answer from the client,

I am going through the thousands of things I have collected

over decades that may one day be used on a piece of my art.

I find this beautiful clear glass hummingbird.

It is in my hand as I remember how much my Aunt Tim loved

hummingbirds so I loved them too.

It is still in my hand when I hear my phone beep that 

a text is coming through.

Nicol texts me back,

"Yes, there are signs, pennies and HUMMINGBIRDS"

I become weak in the knees....

I literally have the glass hummingbird still in my hand!

What are the odds? This is not just a coincidence,

it is a sign from above and I hope that when this gift is given

they see this story as a sign from their loved one

that the right decision is made.

Goosebumps, I tell ya, things like this happen with my

work more than it does not happen.

I do not just paint homes on slate, 

I hope I put memories, joy and just maybe a small miracle

in the homes of others.

Thanks Nicol, for allowing me to share this story!

THE GRAND WEAVER....

I have once blogged about Libby,

a library app. that you can borrow books and audiobooks

from the library without ever leaving your home.

I listen to so many books while painting home portraits.

This week, I pick a book called

THE GRAND WEAVER by RAM ZACHARIAS.

It is an audio book explaining the ways of proof

he has found that there is another life after this one.

While I never struggled with believing there is 

another life after this one,

since my Mom died, I have struggled with the adventure

that takes place from this life to the next.

I know this is Faith and maybe my Faith is not where

it should be. So I begin listening to the audiobook 

read by the writer, he goes into the failings of 

us mortals thinking miracles no longer happen.

He share many stories of things that have happened only by 

the Grace of God.... one story in particular, has me not only 

teary-eyed but also making me realize that miracle abound us,

yet we so often trip it up to be "coincidental"

He tells of a story of an acquaintance  of his, Staples, while fighting in WWII,

on the day of August 8th, my birthday, his Navy vessel was hit and

began to sink. This man was swept overboard with the blast.

He had much damage to his body but he held on to 

a narrow life vest he was able to blow up with a trigger mechanism.

Many hours later, after being in the water, he was rescued 

by a passing Destroyer and returned to his safe place.

The Captain attempted to beach the liner to stop further

loss of lives but it failed. Although this man found himself

alive, he also found himself back in the water, in survival mode.

He was picked up again at lunch time by another vessel

the USS President Jackson. One of 500 of the survivors.

Staples, hugged onto this life vest knowing it had saved his life.

He memorized and scrutinized every written word, all the numbers

on this life vest. It had been manufactured by Firestone tire company

of Akron, Ohio and he memorized the registration number.

Once home and recuperating, he asked his Mother, who worked 

for Firestone, what the registration number meant.

His Mother began explaining that the company insisted 

on the personal responsibility to the help they were 

giving to the War effort, each employee was given their

own number, only used by that employer.

Staples, remembering every aspect of this life piece,

quoted out the number he had memorized from so many

months before. There was a moment of stunned silence and

then his Mother spoke,

"That was my own personal code, used by no one else but me,

I was responsible for that small piece of rubber that saved your life."

Amazing, the one who gave him birth and was responsible for

his DNA gave him rescue in the swirling waters.

For me, this is more than a coincidence but divine intervention.

A great story for all to see miracles like this happen daily,

we just have to look for them.

If looking for a new read, this one is worth your time!

THE END OF SEPTEMBER...

The end of September means also

the end of CHILDHOOD CANCER MONTH.

Being one of the very few who survived 

this dreadful disease in the 60's at the age of 5,

means this month is part of my life at the age of 56.

Of course, I have seen the Sunday informercials 

from St. Jude, have seen the short stories of the same

tv specials, but I always felt removed from it,

not part of that gang.

Then I began working on this book that

one day, I will publish. Gathering information about myself,

gathering information on how treatments have changed,

how the survival rate has grown.

My empathy has changed me.

Now when I watch or study about childhood cancer,

remember my visits to Vanderbilt University Hospital,

I am reminded, I am those children.

This weekend, I had the grand girls and I thought,

"I was Jolee's age" 

when I was diagnosed,

"A little older than Jemma..."

The fact is, I suffered through those treatments that

saved my life. Many of the things I face now, medically 

speaking are from those things that were given to me then.

Yet, I have no bitterness. I am alive, I live, I hope

I give back...

These babies I see are still part of Cancer,

we have not rid this world of Childhood Cancer.

So, I say to any parents out there who are watching 

their little babies suffer through chemo and radiation,

prepare for their survival and the long term issues they may have,

Be patient, your little child has changed.

Yes, they have been through things no little child should 

ever have to face. 

But, they have also become more,

they have become the hope to others out there who will

face the Big C. Their hearts have been changed, their

thoughts on life have been changed.

It is so very hard to believe, they have become better

because of what they have overcome.

They will share their stories and change people views.

For those sweet babies that are not as fortunate as I,

those who have succumbed to the dreaded big C,

treatments used will become better because of their

and their family's bravery.

Their bravery throughout their battle will be remembered 

by so many of all ages.

It is never easy to write or speak of childhood cancer.

I find it harder to add to my book not when I learn of

the things I faced but when I see the suffering of another family.

I say, I hope when these families hear, read my story,

they will know they belong to an elite group

a group that must continue to carry that torch of 

hope and survival for so many who come after us.

I hope when you think of me,

IT IS THIS YOU SEE.

Hope, love, empathy, survival, Life.

BARKER HOME

About four months ago, I was asked by

a young woman to paint her grandparents home for

herself, her twin sister, and her GodMother who was also her

aunt. Finally the time had come for me to do this order.

I contacted Kristen Barker Blanchard and asked if 

she was still interested. She was and that began her pouring

memories out to me to make her paintings special.

I drove by the home and took photos of the home 

as I like to do as it gives me a feel of the home.

It was a traditional brick home with a beautiful

brick fence surrounding it, It may not have been special

to many but the fact that the home was built in 1963 said

lots to me about the home. No one built or could even afford

a home such as this in the 60's. I became intrigued and 

Kristen began with the memories. She was disappointed

in the photos I took as she said her Grandparents who have both

passed always had the most beautiful yard.

I reminded her that the good thing about the home portraits,

I could make them look nice. 

With the help of her Dad, her Nannie and herself, she

began telling me about the home. 

What was planted in the flower beds, what was important.

My original sketch did not include the brick fence.

Then Kristen spoke of how proud her Grandfather was 

to have that brick fence surrounding his home.

I added a piece to each end.

Finally three portraits of the special home was painted

and awaiting pick-up.

What I love most about what I do is learning and then

meeting the clients I work with who then become my friends.

Each one has become a friend if they were not already that.

Kristen came over and OMG, it was like meeting a younger 

version of myself. We began talking, I gave her the tour

of the cottage, told her stories of things in my home.

We both had so much to say and each conversation

had so much in common. I knew this young woman

would remain in my life.

I thanked her for the most beautiful writing she 

added to facebook with her paintings.

She spoke of her twin sister, Kayla and how much 

I reminded her of her sister, how she wanted my to meet her

Mom.... It went on and we had an instant bond.

I kept feeling like I had met her before, I chalked

it up to all the texts we had shared over two weeks.

Then her twin sister, Kayla requested a friend of Facebook.

She reminded me we had met at jury duty and had a long

conversation while waiting for the duty to begin.

Then it all came back to me, I had met this girl before

and it was in that meeting that had me feeling I 

knew Kristen. Yes, I love what I do.

I don't just paint, I suspend memories for people and

then these people become part of me.

Kristen and her sister, Kayla are two of those

new people to my village. 

Kristen, thank you so much for entrusting me

with such wonderful memories. I am so very glad

I could make this dream for you a reality.

Growing up is not always easy but I pray

that each time you all see this portrait you are

transported to that little girl you once were 

when memories in this home were made.

Love to the Barkers!

SOMETIMES YOU LOOSE YOUR MOMMA BEFORE HER LAST BREATH

While streaming Facebook, I come across this beautiful writing.

I have many thoughts surrounding this paragraph.

The one more prominent is that 

I miss my Momma.

Like I miss her lots, not in the way that it makes me want

to cry or anything, more a melancholy type feeling.

As I read the paragraph, I realized that although

I wanted to always live by those words, the fact

is I am human and there were times I lost my patience with her.

Mostly before I realized dementia was settling in to take

the Momma I knew away from us.

When she forgot things, when she misplaced money,

when she lived with us and it was a struggle sometimes

when raising my own children and she was there to 

go against what we had decided was best for the kids.

I was thankful that the years she lived with us,

my two kiddo's always had someone home waiting for them.

She not only waited for them, but she had a snack ready

and supper cooked. My children have been blessed 

with so many good memories of my Momma, their Mommee.

I hope the times I lost my patience with her are not

what they remember because I really wanted to be so kind to her.

When we moved to Thibodaux, she decided not to come with us.

Instead, rented herself a small studio apartment on the bayou.

I knew we would miss her but I also knew that what was

best for my family was for us to leave the bayou.

She was healthy and happy and clear minded on the days

she moved into her apartment. 

When I would go spend the night with her, we always ended

with reading and talking about something we had read.

She hid the beginning of her dementia well,

because I didn't see her every day, I didn't see

the change in her behavior, I would sometimes still 

loose my patience as she kept asking same questions all the time.

Then, one day everything changed for me.

I had given her an awesome book to read.

She began it the same day I gave it to her.

The next morning I was happy to see her bookmark a few 

pages into the book.

I asked her how she liked it.

"Oh its so good, I can't put it down"

then the next time I visited.......

the bookmark remained in the same place.

I questioned her about it and she said,

Oh I am reading it again. 

That day I realized she could no longer remember what she read.

She could still read, just could not retain.

Each time I visited either at her apartment or at St. Joseph Manor

once she moved, the same book remained on her nightstand.

the bookmark never left page 10.

I began to see her as more like a child to me and just like

that my impatience with her was gone.

Yes, I still would get irritated sometimes but I kept it to

myself making sure she would never see or feel like a burden to me.

Although she died at 92, many years after I removed

the book from her nightstand because it hurt me each time

I saw the bookmark remain on page 10,

I treated her like a child of mine.

I lost my Mother, the caregiver, the unconditional lover of us all,

long before she took her last breath.

Love your parents as the natural order of life will 

have you burying your parents one day, its the way

 this life is intended to be.

Right now just love them.

You will miss them when they are gone.

(look at the hand in the clouds)