Dreams Can Come True

My brother Dan's employer requires him to travel to the Dallas area monthly for meetings and I am always invited to ride along to visit friends, or the many family members on our Dad's side that live there.  

This time, I made arrangements for someone to teach my adult Sunday School class and  jumped at the chance to go.  As you may remember, my previous blog entry described a dream that brought on a persistent pining for my friend Dave and his family.  

Dan and I left about noon on Sunday and met Dave at an agreed upon destination where he scooped me up.   Like a tall drink of water on a scorching day, the long overdue visit was every bit as pleasant as I had imagined it would be.  

Sadly, Dave and I did not find ourselves participating in any garage band performances as my dream had implied, but their home is lovely, beautifully decorated as only Gil could, and their children were so delightful, it made me miss my own little ones that I left behind for all of 36 hours.  I stayed in an amazingly comfortable guest room and even slipped in a nap today!  We did what friends do . . . we hugged, we ate, we chatted about nothing of any significance and yet, it was exactly what I needed to make my dream come true.

Dan and I safely arrived back home tonight at 9pm (as he predicted) and I am now content to carry on with my abundantly blessed life.  Thank you one and all!!

Uplifting Conversations

If it weren't for the daily trips in the car, where one is a captive audience, I would rarely be privileged to know what goes on in the deep recesses of my grandchildren's minds.  Case in point:  While I was driving, one of them (they sound identical sometimes and I was so blown away, I didn't think to care which one it was) asked me, "How old is Mr. Moreno?  Is he younger than you or older?  Who is the oldest of you and him?"  Please be advised that Zeke Moreno is the gentleman who mows my yard for me.  He retired from Dow Chemical as a bus driver where he picked up employees from the gate and drove them to their destinations inside the plant.  He knows my dad from Dow and also my late husband, Michael.

Back in 1997 when the effects of simultaneous chemo and radiation rendered Mike unable to do yard work, he refused to let me or my daughters do it but finally relented when I asked him if Mr. Moreno could start mowing for us on a regular basis so he's been doing it ever since.  Zeke wears a mask when he works, because he has allergies that have developed into pneumonia more than once, but it isn't like the kids have never seen him without it!  He is 87 years old, wears hearing aids in both ears and works circles around most individuals, especially me.  As if keeping my yard looking good isn't enough, Zeke brings me vegetables from his garden!

Although I get around like I'm at least 90, I definitely am the younger.  In fact, he is the kind of person I aspire to be when I grow up, which apparently, from the looks of things, won't be long. It's a good thing that I love my grandchildren unconditionally.  

I Had A Dream

Growing up, I seldom dreamed anything I could remember but since I have "matured", I find the need to swallow half a Benadryl at night to sleep and a pleasant side benefit is that I have memorable dreams almost every night.

This time it was about my good friend, Dave.  You see, he served an honorable mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this area some time ago and immediately became one of my favorite people.  Dave then carried a photograph of his exquisite girlfriend waiting back home, Gillian (who he referred to as his "Babalicious").  Upon his return, they married, had a gaggle of children and are presently living the dream (not this one, but their's).  Dave has a great job, they have literally tons of friends, absolutely beautiful children and Gillian, an extraordinary individual in her own right, is the quintessential woman behind the man.

So, you know how bizarre dreams can get . . . apparently I went to see Dave's family and he and I wound up playing in a garage band.  I was on the drums (see addendum to this blog) and Dave had an electric guitar, sort of crouched down, hiding behind someone, acting all shy.  If you knew Dave like I know Dave, you'd acknowledge how weird THAT is.  Dave may be many things to many people, but none of them include his being shy.  He leans more toward gregariousness. There he was, looking as handsome as ever.  In contrast to most of us who actually age, Dave is more like Benjamin Button, seeming to grow younger every year.  

Alas, in the time it has taken me to post this entry, I have forgotten the remainder of the dream.  But as we so often ask ourselves after a dream, " what does it mean?"  I have decided that I must be missing them and should make arrangements to go visit sometime when I am awake.  That explains why someone shows up in my dreams that I may or may not have seen in the last few decades.  Out of nowhere, the strangest of acquaintances appear in my slumber when I least expect them. 

There are so many of those neglected visits that come to mind.  I am sure hoping that in the hereafter, it will somehow be the standard to be able to mingle with all those we love . . . that missing someone will no longer be an affliction like it is in this life. 

Addendum:  Once upon a time, long long ago, I had been riding in the sweltering heat, suffocating humidity and relentless mosquitos on a trail ride.  Usually there was a wagon adjoining us that carried cold water and soft drinks, but this particular year, they were out of everything but beer, a staple on trail rides.  

 At one point we stopped to rest when my dad drove up to check on me and my horse.  I shared my pitiful story with him and even though there was little he could do about the elements, he could surely get me something to quench my thirst. Off he went and I assumed he would find the nearest convenience store, but he quickly returned with a HUGE container of ice cold beer from said wagon.  Sorely underage, I questioned it about two seconds and sitting down, I chugalugged the beer, which contained ice crystals, something I had never enjoyed so much before (nor since).  When I stood up, it was clear to me that I was much more than rehydrated.

Very shortly after, we stopped at our destination for the night and the typical festivities began, to include a small band on a stage set up high, nearly in the trees.  Feeling "enlightened" from my previous beverage, somehow I managed to find myself talking to the drummer, who convinced me it was so easy to play the drums for slow country music, kind of an oom-pa-pa beat and he showed me how to do it.  It WAS easy!

When Daddy came to pick me up, he looked all around, but finally found me up on the stage, pounding out the heartbeat for some slow country song and he was so excited, he immediately bought a second-hand trap set.  Hoping I was a child prodigy (or an organ-grinder monkey), he would implore me to play for company who might drop by.  With no obvious talent, not having had the benefit of lessons,  or even some background music to accompany me, I just froze.  I'm sure it's not the only time he's ever been disappointed in me, but I'd bet it's right up there at the top.

Good parents know the importance of exposing their children to an eclectic assortment of activities to learn what they may be naturally good at.  Apparently, without the influence of a huge bucket of ale, I cannot play the drums.  At all.

Angels In The Produce Department

It isn't a huge news flash, but I feel it needs to be shared.  There are still really good people out there who do small random acts of kindness that restore one's faith in humanity.  

Saturday evening, Jennifer bravely took all three of her children to a local grocery store with her. (She had offers to watch the kids but gracefully declined, determined to take the whole bunch.) While they were in the produce area, one of the children spotted some yummy-looking cherries and asked if they could get some.  Wise shopper that she is, Jen noticed them priced at a whopping $8 per pound and told her they "could not afford those" and moved along. But before they got too far away, an employee who obviously overheard their conversation, came over with a bag of cherries that had a big orange neon sticker on it, showing they were on sale for only $1 a pound.

I've heard that LIFE itself is just a bowl of cherries, but I sincerely hope that sweet person receives a star in their crown (on judgement day) for the small, thoughtful gestures that make such a difference.  On the outside chance that you might feel sorry for the store because they failed to make a profit on that "sale", rest assured. . . even though they are not the cheapest store in town, I will be doing a great deal more of my shopping there to make up the difference.

When Jen told me about it, a smile came into my mind.  Years ago, when I had her at the grocery store and she asked for something that I was about to explain to her we couldn't get because we weren't going right home and it would spoil in the car, before I could get the explanation out she said with a sigh, "I know, it's too expendable!" (meaning too expensive) Sounds like Jennifer may have also been disappointed a time or two before.  Sorry folks, some items are simply not worth the money they are asking us to fork over.  The sooner we can come to terms with that, the better off we will be.  However, I am happy my grandchildren got to have some yummy cherries.

Desperation

We are a happy family. We have fun. In fact, we have so much fun that we never want to go to bed and risk missing something exciting. Sleep deprivation is a serious problem in our nation but particularly in our family. It can cause all kinds of problems, but most noticeable is the irritability. Melissa's kids can fall asleep on cue and sleep 'round the clock if time permits. Chelle's kids are asleep in a timely manner night after night.

But Jen and Jon have NEVER had early-to-bed-early-to rise children. They are better described as late-to-bed-early-to-rise children. With so much energy to burn, they are like Apache horses, they run and run until they fall over from complete exhaustion, unless they begin the Battle of the Bed . After the typical playing hard outside, supper, homework, bathes, reading, etc., the trouble starts with the gambit of excuses after they are put to bed, i.e. "thirsty, hungry, dizzy, sore throat, scared, itchy, headache, the others are bothering me, ( and the heart-rendering) I just want to give you one more kiss and a hug". I've spent the night there enough times to witness Jen trying all the right things. The Supernanny techniques, withholding privileges, substantial rewards for good behavior, and good ol' corporal punishment. The little ones just don't want to give it up.

So, this morning, I scraped the bottom of the barrel of grand parenting for something that might make a difference. Since all their middle names should have been "go", we are grounded until further notice. . . no pre-school today, which resulted in broken hearts. These kids are extremely social and would much rather have a beating. Since I love the three free hours to run errands or clean house, I'D almost rather have a beating, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Not only no pre-school today, but if tonight is a repeat, there will be no play group tomorrow. Thursday is not only pre-school again, but a field trip to the fire department! Often on Friday, I try to take them to the mall to play on the Dow furniture, but oh well, if they can't go to sleep without being put in restraints or being heavily sedated (just kidding, CPS), they will not get to partake of said festivities. And I will be sad too. Keep your fingers crossed for us!

Another Milestone

Friday afternoon on April 24, 2009, a few of us were able to attend the Commencement for UTMB in Galveston for Melissa Dawn McCauley.  In December, she received her Bachelor of Science Degree in Nursing, but we wanted to enjoy the entire pomp and circumstance at the graduation ceremony. 

 Jen couldn't get off work, but Chelle and I took Ella and Brennan.   Cheyenne and Ciara saved seats for us so we were able to sit together and it was a proud time for all of us. Chelle even had an opportunity to poke fun at me for tearing up when the music for the processional started. That stinkin' music has the same affect on me as the wedding march, auld lang syne, Silent Night or any other notable piece that rings in a momentous occasion.  It brings me to tears every time. 

Shortly after Melissa's name was called and she walked across the stage, the youngest two became restless so Chelle took them outside and next door to shake their wiggles out (thank goodness for her)!   Ciara and Cheyenne looked just beautiful and are always so well-behaved that we enjoy being with them.   Often they can be hilarious.  For instance . .  

There was a gathering Saturday evening in my home to celebrate my aging and becoming  and more feeble.  All three of my girls were there with 5 of my grandchildren.  It was Ciara's turn to shine. Melissa told the story of Chey's trip to the dentist recently. . . an outing that Cheyenne used to hate with a passion.  Then, they discovered nitrous oxide.  Well, it was already discovered, but Dr. Bell offered to use it with Cheyenne, who has found new joy in having dental work done.  The thing you should know about Dr. Bell is that he is absolutely determined none of his patients will have the slightest bit of pain, so he deadened her up really well.  She resembled something between Popeye and  a stroke victim.  

It reminded Ciara of the comedy routine that Bill Engvall does where a man was asked what he did for a living, when he arched his eyebrow and says, "What do you THINK I do for a living?Look at my face.  I'm a pilot!"   So, Ciara quipped that if someone asks Cheyenne the same question, she will have to say, (with one side of her face all scrunched), "What do you THINK I do for a living? Look at my face.  I sell snow cones!"   It was one of those local jokes (you woulda had to have been there, because I have not the words to describe what we saw).  We laughed a long time over that.

Ah, The Still Small Voice

My daughter, Melissa has always been a good listener. Even if she might not see the need to act on it, there was never any question that she heard, understood, and retained what was said.

A couple days ago an employee at BASF, and personal friend of Melissa's, called the health clinic and said she was concerned about a co-worker who was diabetic and wasn't "doing well". She asked if Melissa could come over there and just check on her. Since Melissa knew this person well, she might have been tempted, but was inspired to tell her right away to officially call the ambulance and she'd come with it.

When she arrived, the patient was in insulin shock and completely unresponsive. Melissa tried to give her some glucose orally but wasn't even able to do that. They put her in the ambulance and headed for the hospital. It has been a lot of years since Melissa started an IV (since that isn't done in the health clinic), but she was able to get it on the first "stick" . . . in a moving ambulance, no less! A short time later, she left the woman feeling much better. The moral of the story here is, even when it's a personal friend calling for a favor, it is far more professional to stay within policy and try to focus on the matter at hand. It also doesn't hurt to be in tune with that all-important "still, small voice". Good listening, Missy!!