SAY WHAT YOU MEAN TO SAY

Mom and I just got back from an frazzled eventful weekend getaway to the Hill Country.

I had been planning this trip for months. The beautiful daughter of my beloved childhood friend was getting married in Boerne, and I was looking forward to getting away from my crazy family the hustle and bustle to spend a few days of poop-free talk peace and quiet in a cozy hotel room.

Three days before leaving, my Mama decided she didn't want to be left behind with those Haney boys wanted to come along for the ride.

“Now, if you want to go by yourself... just let me know. But I would really would like to go with you.”

How could I say no to my Mom? I couldn't.  

So, I said,  “Uh... sure, Mom. There is nothing I would rather do than enjoy my own company a road trip with you --- we'll have fun!

By the time I got through packing her copious amounts of crap necessary items into the car, it looked like I had loaded up the truck to move to Beverly.

Hills, that is.

After strategically packing three suitcases, two hanging bags, one walker, a wheelchair, breathing machine, portable O2 tank, and assorted medication dispensers... I had to break the bad news to Mom that we would not be able to bring her fan.

“What if I get hot?” she asked? “My ovulating fan doesn't take up that much space.”

“First of all, Mom... fans do not ovulate. They oscillate. Second of all, I outweigh you by 50 35 pounds and sweat like a pig in a bacon factory way more than you do. If I don't need a fan, you don't need a fan.”

“But I like the noise. What if you snore?”

“I'll try really hard to hum instead of snore.”

“Hummpf.  You probably haven't even oscillated in years...” she said.

I prayed for patience and an attitude transplant adjustment all the way to Happy, Texas.

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As we passed Tulia I wondered how I could have forgotten just how much fun Mom is on a road trip, with her hilarious perspective on life and her penchant for eating like a third grader on steroids.  

My Mama is the perfect co-pilot.

By the time we got to Plainview, I was laughing so hard I had to stop and pee answer nature's call.

“Wait til you're my age,” Mama warned. “Nature doesn't call you, she sneaks up on you and squeezes your bladder before you can get to the toilet.”

Right outside of Abilene we passed the giant turbine wind farms and Mom observed, “I wonder if anybody ever parachutes around here...”

“No, Mom. I'm pretty sure this is a parachute-free zone.”

“Well, if it's not it certainly should be.”

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I was a little worried about leaving her unsedated alone for so long while I went to the wedding.

“I'm going to call your cell phone to make sure you can hear it ringing”, I explained to her as I dialed her number.

After three rings, she looked over at her phone and said, “Is that my phone? Are you calling me, now? Am I supposed to answer?”

“No, Mom. I'm just checking... it rings just fine. You have to promise you'll call me if you need anything.”

She opened her antiquated handy dandy flip phone and said, “Oh. It looks like I missed a call from you recently. I'm sorry.”

“It was now, Mom. I called you just now.”

“Oh.  What did you want?”

I made a food run for her before the wedding. She ordered fried chicken and gravy and a coke and Rocky Road ice cream. And Cheetos's, please. 

Never mind that she is on a low salt / no caffeine diet. I hooked her up like the enabler obedient daughter that I am.

A couple of hours later, I called from the wedding to check on her. She answered on the third ring, TV blaring, crunching in my ear.

“You doing okay, Mom?” I asked.

“Sure! I've eaten everything in the room and I'm watching a Sylvester Stallone movie marathon. You stay just as long as you want.  And bring me a hot fudge sundae on your way home!”

After the wedding, I returned to the hotel to find my 79 year old Mama sitting up in bed, surrounded by empty food containers and smiling back at Stallone like a besotted teenager with grease on her chin.

“I see what you've done. You've had yourself a food and Sly orgy while I was gone. What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”

“It was fun! There's a Spook-A-Thon on tomorrow night. Let's stay another day.”

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Was it an easy weekend? Heck no.

Relaxing?? Hardly.

But being there to watch Vicki pin that veil on her daughter... 

... reminded me of all the trillion million ways my own Mom has exquisitely cared for me and loved me throughout my life.

Between Callie getting hitched and Mama getting high on Rocky and Rocky Road, it was an absolutely perfect weekend. 

And I really do mean it.

Ovulating Oscillating wind farms and all.

LOVE MAKES YOU REAL

“There is a light in this world, a healing spirit more powerful than any darkness we may encounter. We sometimes lose sight of this force when there is suffering, too much pain. Then suddenly, the spirit will emerge through the lives of ordinary people who hear a call and answer in extraordinary ways.” 

― Mother Teresa

My brother and his wife dropped by to introduce us to their foster child – their very first foster child.

I couldn't even look at Baby P without my eyes getting all shiny. Holding her and breathing in her sweet baby smell kicked those tears right on over the tipping point. 

It wasn't just the idea that this baby had not been loved ENOUGH... but also the fact that my brother and sister-in-law had made room in their busy lives to love her NOW.

I'm always trying to convince my brother that he is a hero – because he absolutely is, to me. He shrugs it off every time; this time by saying, “I really didn't want to do this, but apparently that didn't matter to God.”

About a year ago, the tug on their hearts to become foster parents became a calling. A God calling. Even though the timing seemed a bit off (they are old enough to be sniffing the delicious odor of retirement, yet young enough to be enjoying their own precious grandbabies) they trusted in His perfect timing.

What an amazingly unselfish act of love and obedience.

And now, they are absolutely besotted by this tiny brown-eyed wonder. Even knowing that she will likely cause their hearts to break, they hold nothing back in loving her. Why? Because somebody needs to love her at this time, in this moment. And because that's what they signed up for... to provide an interim home for children, a safe place to land until a forever home is found. 

Heartbreak be danged.

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I sat in my chair, listening as the Dickman shared lunch with his Mom.

“Where's the Other One?” She asked.

“You mean Jackie? Your son Jackie is upstairs.” Dickie replied.

“Oh, okay.  Where is Dickie?”

“That's me, Mom. I'm your son, Dickie.”

She took a long look at him – really looked. Then she let out a little self-conscious laugh and said, “Of course you are. But I didn't know your name was Dickie, did I? Isn't there another name I call you?”

“No, Mom. You've always called me Dickie.”

As her attention turned back to her food, he looked out the window and blinked away the tears.

It's not easy watching their hearts break as their Mama fades before their very eyes, a bit more every day.

But taking this journey with her is worth the heartache.  We have chosen to live in the pain.

Just like Baby P's brand new foster parents... we have been called to this moment. God's fingerprints are all over this. He planned it, He organized it and He will carry us through. 

Heartbreak be danged.

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He specializes in broken hearts, you know. God does extraordinary things with the light that shines from the broken places of ordinary people.  He never wastes our pain.

Which is why we shouldn't fear suffering. We should never be afraid to put ourselves in the path of heartbreak for a purpose greater than ourselves. Because it's not about us.

And there is promise in the pain. Promise of a deeper understanding... a stronger faith... a richer, more purposeful life.

Loving one another, even if our hearts break.  That's what makes us real.

Ollie Ollie Outs In Free

I have never been comfortable with people who think the Dickman and I have the perfect marriage, and in truth, that myth is perpetuated only by those who don't know us well.

Don't get me wrong. I have a great marriage, a blessed marriage. 

But a perfect marriage... no freakin' way. 

We are an imperfect couple who are too dang stubborn to give up on each other. And after 37 years of marriage, we have learned to accept our differences and embrace our strength.

No, that's not a typo. We have A strength. Just one, but it's a good one. Almost like a superpower.

Our strength:  COMMITMENT

Commitment to our marriage. 

Commitment to our dreams. 

Commitment to our faith.

Commitment to each other.

So, even on those days when I'm bloated and pissy and taking my stress out on him... even on those days when all he wants to do is watch six hours of uninterrupted football while I'm chopping cotton and milking cows for sustenance... even then, our commitment holds firm.

Maybe it has something to do with falling in love when we were just puppies... all those years and all those layers of life solidifying into an unbreakable bond...

Whatever it is, wherever he is... is home.

And now that our home is in the country, we have turned into two old spoiled farts.

We've gotten used to the tranquility and addicted to taking deep breaths off the back deck. So much so, that when one of us is gone for awhile, we have our own silly way of letting the other know we are safely home, again. 

Heck, I even made him a sign...

Remember when we were kids and stayed outside playing until the street lights came on? Playing games like “Kick The Can” and “Hide And Go Seek”, remember...?

In our little neighborhood, we had a rule: if someone had hidden themselves so well that nobody could find them, then they got to come 'home' free.

Whoever was "IT" let them know they were safe by yelling, “Ollie Ollie Outs In Free!”.

There was no better sound to hear; no better feeling than to know you could come finally come out of hiding and run home, free and safe.

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This week, my heart has been heavy for a beautiful friend whose husband found his way home.

I'm not exactly sure how the Dickman and I became friends with Paul Revere and his lovely wife, Sydney. But I must say, it's been an honor.

The famous rock star... 

and his stunning wife, a popular Marilyn Monroe impersonator...

Though we were duly impressed by their accomplishments and notoriety, the biggest honor of knowing the Reveres was to witness their amazing love, to breathe in the rarified air of their devotion.

Both were larger than life, even before they met.

Yet, conversely, to each other they were but mere mortals. She was his beautiful Syd and he, her Baby.

They were completely sappy to be around, and you never left their presence without a smile on your face.

It breaks my heart to write of them in the past tense. They were a team in every sense of the word. If ever two were truly one, it was Paul and Sydney. Commitment had become their superpower, as well.

I have read dozens and dozens of tributes and memorials for Paul Revere... for his contribution to Rock and Roll... his work with veterans through his foundation (http://ridetothewall.us/)... for the life that he lived so well. I hope the accolades for him keep coming and never stop.  He deserves them all and so much more.

A huge void is left in the absence of the force of nature that was Paul Revere.

But now, my thoughts are with his Sydney... the beautiful wife who never left his side, who always had his back, who gave him strength to keep smiling and laughing until the end, even when she did not know how she would carry on without him.

This incredible woman has inspired me to live better and to love deeper and to never take one single day for granted. To guard my commitment and keep it strong.

Her commitment never wavered. And in the end, she gave her Paulie the most unselfish, loving gift of all. Sydney helped him to run home, free and safe.

Ollie Ollie Outs In Free...