Smooth Heels and Blue Bell...

Last week was My Birthday Week and I gotta tell you, it was almost over before it began.

It's not what you're thinking.  Even though I had not planned on sharing My Birthday with National Hairball Awareness Day...

I was willing to compromise.  I mean, hairballs are dangerous, y'all. Just thinking about it gets me all choked up.

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But, no.  What really got me was that a few days before My Big Day, Blue Bell Creameries pulled ALL THEIR ICE CREAM off the shelves due to a little ol' Listeria problem.

(If you're not from Texas, let me explain... THEY TOOK ALL OUR ICE CREAM OFF THE SHELVES!  WE ARE VIRTUALLY ICE CREAM-LESS!!!) 

Mighty serious stuff, this is.  

They are holding ice cream prayer vigils in Brenham, Texas.  And rightly so.  Blue Bell comes straight from heaven.  Listeria is from the debil.  Nothing short of divine intervention can help us at this point.

Between the hair balls and the Blue Bell, I was ready to call off the party.  The thought of celebrating My Birthday without Blue Bell Pecans Praline 'n Cream was just downright depressing...

Hoping against hope, I jumped in my car and headed to Walgreen's, praying to Baby Jesus that I would find a rogue carton of Blue Bell. 

Just one little carton... 

I wasn't gonna be picky...

Any flavor would do...

Alas, there was not a single carton of Blue Bell to be found.  The bloody ice cream murderers had done their job well.

(Saddest photo I've ever seen.)

BUT... while I was searching for Blue Bell, in a stroke of serendipity I found this handy gadget:

A battery powered callus remover!  The Perfect Birthday Gift for ME!!

I drove straight home and told Dickie what he needed to get me for My Birthday. (All smart wives know this trick.  Otherwise we end up with stinky bath salts or a weed eater.)

Let me tell you... this man of mine is so well trained that he didn't even blink.  He shut off his power tools, made a precision military turn in his clean white Nike's, got in his truck and drove off into the sunset to buy his woman the desire of her heart.  

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I'm not so far into Blue Bell withdrawal that I can't see all you judgy young brides snickering at me.  I see you out there.  And I fully understand that if you unwrapped a battery powered callous remover from your husband, you would think that the romance is over. 

But you would be wrong.  

Battery powered callous removers are not the end of romance.  You know what is?  The Menopause is.  Just like Listeria, the menopause is the debil.  

You young, moist, nubile chicks need to know this.  Enjoy those plump ovaries while you can, because one day your little nuggets will dry up and unleash a cataclysm causing your body to erupt into night sweats, leaky bladders, weight gain, stray gray hair and funky feet.  

Don't get me wrong.  I can still tear it up in the sheets.  It's just that now... my heels are to blame for tearing up the sheets.  They were so cracked and rough that I could actually file my own toes with 'em.  

And even though I tried really hard to keep my jagged heels off the Dickman, sometimes things would go bump in the night and... BAM! 

Poor guy accused me of wearing spurs to bed.  (Not that there's anything wrong that.)

So keep that smugness to your young, tight-skinned, smooth-heeled selves.  Because I'm here to tell you... True Love is making sure your middle-aged wife has callous-free heels for her birthday.  King-sized sheets are expensive.

DISCLAIMER:  This was not Blue Bell ice cream and I did not cheat.  I only licked the chocolate.

BEARING BEAMS OF LOVE

Once upon a time, inspired by the upcoming Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate, I wrote a blog about love and marriage and fairy tales and cynicism and the intricacies of Happily Ever After. 

If I may be so obnoxious as to quote myself, I said:

"You wonder how your fairy tale wedding morphed into a marriage that has now become a crazed dance of coming together and pulling apart and twirling around and stepping on toes in a flurry of frenzy and breathless emotion all intertwined with love. The only constant through all the years is love."

We're coming up on 38 years, my Dickman and I.

The only constant through all the years is love.

It's painful to look back and remember wedges that were driven between us, implicit in every relationship.  Satisfying to know that we somehow survived with most of our knees and knobby bits intact.

On the other side of the plighted troth, it's always fun to reminiscence about the varied forces of nature that conspired to cement our relationship: the deaths and births and ties that bind, island sunsets and jungle ziplines, ER trips and midnight promises, two-stepping on decks and driving through  vineyards.

There's a million little things that tie us together, a lifetime of memories over which we have bonded.  But who would have guessed that right smack dab in the middle of our middle agedness, we would be bonding over two of the most important women in our lives --- our Mamas.

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A few months ago, we moved my mother-in-law to a 'rehabilitation and living center'. (It sounds better than 'nursing home', so just go with it.) To our surprise and unending gratitude, she loves it! The staff loves her, she has a roommate who makes her feel safe, and she can find her way from her room to the cafeteria – all by herself.

She was disoriented at first, even to the point of not remembering her own son if she skipped a few days without seeing him.

Shortly after we moved her, the Dickman stopped by the rehabilitation and living center on his way home from a business trip. He sat with his Mom, chatting about the weather and hair color and bowel movements, all her favorite topics. She asked him what time it was and he replied, “It's about 7:00.” She asked if it was day or night and he pulled back the curtains to show her the setting sun. Then she looked right into his eyes and said, “Oh my, it's getting late! Does your Mama know where you are?”

Dickman smiled a sweet, sad smile and said, “You know... I'm not really sure.”

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My Mama knows exactly where I am - straight down the hall and to the right.

I'm pretty sure that living with me and the Dickman was not in her Life Plan. She is a fiercely independent woman, which we strive to respect and honor.

Every morning, I take her a breakfast tray and when she's up to it, she joins us for supper at night.  All the in-between stuff she handles mostly by herself. (Lunch...? She keeps a stash of cheese crackers and pork rinds to drink with her coke. Seriously, don't even go there.)

It's hard not to help when I see her struggling with daily tasks, but I know it's important for her to do what she can while she can. She insists on making her bed every morning, even though it wipes her out and she has to take rest breaks.

This morning I peeked in her door and saw this...

My sweet Mama was sitting on the side of her bed, trying to catch her breath... quietly enjoying some of her favorite pictures. I stood in the doorway and watched, allowing my heart to break into a million little pieces because you know what?  Love hurts.

Nazareth was right, y'all.

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There is a quote by William Blake that I've always loved, but never fully appreciated until recently:

“We are put on earth a little space, that we may learn to bear the beams of love.”

From the minute we are born until the day we die, God is transforming us with beams of love. Sometimes the transformation is painful. Often the transformation is painful.

Love, done right, cracks you wide open and makes you feel all the feels you always and never wanted to feel.

But here's the deal:  it only hurts for a little space.  'Cause that's all we've got.

And though I'm always screwing up, I really, really want to get this right. Even when the vulnerability of loving others knocks me to my knees... or when the sadness of losing my loved ones seems too painful to bear... even when my every instinct is to build up walls of protection around my heart... I pray that God tears me apart with beams of love so heavy and bright that I can't help but shine it all over those around me!

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Obviously... God is not finished with me, yet.

I'm still learning.

But this I know for sure... whether we give it or we receive it, love truly is the only constant.

And it's all we're taking with us when we go.