The Turtle

She stared at me with her great big eyes, and then it stared at me, too.  With a rope between them, I wondered who had hold of whom?   All these years I had seen only an angel dragging a turtle along, but today... well, today I saw something different:  the angel isn't the patient one.  It is the turtle that is the patient one, and he's the one with the rope around his neck.  He's roped to that cute little lady, and he patiently goes along with "whatever".  Oh, my!  What he has to put up with would astound you and crack the shell on your back:   if you had one!

So today, I am pondering what I do to others, the ones that are tied to me.  I'm not so sure it's a pretty picture, but what is beautiful is their patience.  Blessed... I am so blessed.

Patience: the will or ability to wait or endure without complaint.
                a spiritual gift,  fruit of The Spirit

^"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law."
                                  ~  Holy Bible, Galatians 5:22-23, New International Version

Walking, Standing Together

@Copyright 2011, 2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Today's Lunch...

Today's lunch...Courage!

One bite at a time...
that is how you eat a sandwich. That's how you eat an elephant. But what about the monsters?  Do you eat them too?

I heard of one mother's solution for monsters.  She filled a mist spray bottle with water and fragrance.  At bedtime when the monsters hid under her child's bed, she pulled out the monster spray.  She allowed the child to lightly spray under and around the bed, and magically the monsters disappeared.  The action gave satisfaction to the child.  Safety and security were just poofs away:  sanctuary within the child's power.

But, what about us grown-ups?  How do we deal with the monsters?

Roast Beast?  No.  Roast Beef.  Yes.  And.... leftover roast beef sandwich!  So tasty.  So good.  So comforting.  After cutting my sandwich, I realized that I had cut it just the way my Mama did when I was a little girl.  I can't imagine how many sandwiches she made when my brother & I were growing up, but she always cut them into four squares.  The toast, the roast, the mustard, Miracle Whip, ketchup and pickle... all good stuff.  But, the best of all is what I now remember... the love.  Thank you, Mama.

And that is how we deal with the monsters:  LOVE.

"For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life,
nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present,
nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature,
shall be able to separate us from the love of God,
which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

~Holy Bible, Romans 8:38-39

........................................................

Mama Lou's Pot Roast

Salt & Pepper 3-4 lb beef roast.  Dredge in flour.  Sear all sides of roast in bacon grease (hot oil if you're steering away from pork fat) until crispy brown.  (High heat. Caution:  it splatters!)

Mix together in crock pot:

1 can Campbell's French Onion Soup
1 1/2 cans water
2 Tablespoons B-B-Q sauce
1 teaspoon Kitchen Bouquet (Sold in grocery stores beside the Worcestershire sauce.)

Gently place seared meat in crock pot with fatty side on top.  Spoon soup mixture over the roast so that some of the onions are on top of the meat.  Cover with lid.  Cook on high for 2 hours.  Rotate meat, fatty side down.  Cook for one hour.  Rotate meat again... turn crock pot down to low and simmer for one more hour or until done.

Pull roast from pot and place on cutting board.  Remove any layers of fat.  Cover with foil.  Cool for 10 minutes before cutting or shredding.  After cutting/shredding, drizzle pan juices over the meat to prevent drying out.  Cover with foil until time to serve.

My favorite pot roast pot!  From the 1980's.

@Copyright 2014, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Thanksgiving Again

The following story I originally posted three years ago, but it still stands true this Thanksgiving Season.  When I wrote it, my life was simpler.  It was easy to take my own advice.  But now that I am a worn-out care-giver for an elderly parent, and a giddy grandmother of a gorgeous two year-old grand daughter, my stretched emotions blur the "urgent" and the "important".  My confusion bothers me, and this tug-of-war is constant.  How does one balance the two extremes?

It was good for me to read this today.  Perhaps it will help you, too...
Cindy Lou, November 20, 2013


Today is Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and as I awakened food was on my mind:  ham, turkey & dressing, gravy, vegetables, cranberry sauce, pies, and desserts.  As I dressed for the morning, I kept thinking about all the food that would be here at the house tomorrow, wondering if we had enough, but I knew I had to turn my thoughts elsewhere.  I had to quit thinking about food and focus on my job, but even as I drove past the local Walgreen's Drug Store, their electronic sign flashed "Krispy Kreme donuts available here!"   More food to think about, but it had to be tabled and pushed to the back of my thoughts until after the 11:00 o'clock funeral service.

Friends and family were gathering at the church to celebrate a loved one's life, and I was to be there early to play the piano for the service.  The dear departed soul was unknown to me.  We had not been friends;  but after hearing about him, I wish we had been.  Mr. J (that's what I'll call him) was a World War II Veteran who had been stationed in Guam.  Pictures were shown of him and his sweetheart as they held each other closely, and pictures of their following sixty-two years together flashed onscreen before us.  We saw weddings, new babies, anniversaries, and more new babies, dinners, parties, and then even more new babies.  It was a love story for sure, and the pictures revealed a vibrant personality plus strong dedication to family, friends, and of all things... chickens.

Mr. J liked chickens.  Now, I have to admit, that I, too, like chickens.  Some of my fondest memories as a child are with my neighbor, Mr. Beal and his chickens.  He would let me fill the water bottle and turn it upside down (that's what you do with chicken's watering systems), and sometimes he allowed me to feed the chickens.  And, as baby chicks hatched, I could watch the miracle happen, and then when the chicks were all fluffy, he would let me love on them and squeeze them... but, not too tightly for fear of crushing them.

Some of the grand kids at today's service told their stories of helping their Grandad with his chickens, feeding and watering them, and I certainly identified with them and their love for the man that introduced them to a new, feathery world.  They lovingly and admirably told of experiences they had shared with their Grandad, and it was obvious to me, an outsider, that Mr. J had left a big part of himself inside each grandchild, and that what he believed in will be carried on and will be lived through his children and their following generations.

Already touched by this man's legacy, I knew that this memorial service would stand out in my mind as one of those special ones.  As a musician, I play for many funeral services, and they all are dear.  However, some are much more memorable than others, and this one definitely fits into that category.  This one was sweet, tender and loving, and one I hope I will always remember.  In my heart I thanked the Lord that I could be there and be a part of this circle of family and friends, and I thought the best had already been shared, until the last grandchild spoke and told this simple story, one that centers around, you got it... food.

When she was a small girl, and a  member of the Brownie troop, she sang the Brownie song to her Grandad.  He asked her if she knew the last verse to the song, and she didn't, so with a twinkle in his eye, he sang it to her.  She shared it with her troop leader who also had never heard that verse and taught the last verse to all the girls.  They all loved it, but somehow throughout the years, the memory has faded, and now, years later, the granddaughter can't remember the tune or the words to the Brownie song.  That memory is gone, but  she can still remember the main thing about that verse, the last line that her Grandaddy taught her. 

It's a profound statement; very plain and simple, and I thought about it all the way back home as I drove past the post office, the school, and the Walgreen's with its "Krispy Kreme" sign still flashing.  I thought about my life, and what I'm doing with it, and what I'm not doing with it.  It made me wonder about my priorities, and what really is important to me, and with it being the Thanksgiving season, it caused me to consider my gratitude.  Am I really aware of my amazing, abundant, incredible blessings?  Do I have a clue as to how blessed I really am?  And, then... am I thankful for them?  Truly thankful?  Or, have I slidden into the trench of  ingratitude and dug my ruts so deeply that I'll never see more than my own selfishness, my own greediness?  I pray that's not the case, not my future.  Heavens, I pray not so.

I tell you, friends, even though I was at a funeral today, today was a good day for me.  I enjoyed remembering my childhood friend, and I was blessed to find new ones.  My eyes were opened as a new friend's closed eyes helped me see something about myself.  It's not a pretty picture, the glimpse I saw of me, and it isn't one I'm proud of.  But, it is one that can be changed.  Starting right now, I will pay more attention to, I will be more aware of, and I will be more grateful for all that I have and for what God has given me.  I will focus more on what I have, and focus less on what I don't have... or as she told us today, just as her grandaddy, Mr. J once told her, his precious little granddaughter, and as I am now telling you...
"focus on the donut, not the hole."

Sincerely looking for ways to express my gratitude,
and ways to stay focused,

Cindy Lou

p.s.  Thanksgiving is more than just a day, isn't it?




@ Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

@Copyright 2011, 2012, 2013 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

The Turtle

She stared at me with her great big eyes, and then it stared at me, too.  With a rope between them, I wondered who had hold of whom?   All these years I had seen only an angel dragging a turtle along, but today... well, today I saw something different:  the angel isn't the patient one.  It is the turtle that is the patient one, and he's the one with the rope around his neck.  He's roped to that cute little lady, and he patiently goes along with "whatever".  Oh, my!  What he has to put up with would astound you and crack the shell on your back:   if you had one!

So today, I am pondering what I do to others, the ones that are tied to me.  I'm not so sure it's a pretty picture, but what is beautiful is their patience.  Blessed... I am so blessed.

Patience: the will or ability to wait or endure without complaint.
                a spiritual gift,  fruit of The Spirit

^"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law."
                                  ~  Holy Bible, Galatians 5:22-23, New International Version

Walking, Standing Together

@Copyright 2011, 2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Biscuits & Ice Cream

At our favorite fast-food dive, we finished our morning biscuits, then began to talk about ice cream... real, satisfying ice cream.  We're both under stress as caregivers for loved ones who live with us:  a husband with Alzheimer's and a mother who is wheel-chair bound.  So, food, comfort food, is an important conversation topic.

"I don't cook much anymore, because he's satisfied with just a sandwich, even peanut butter & jelly."

"Me, either.  But, I did open two cans of black-eyed peas last night.  Threw some sliced ham in the skillet, and they thought I had cooked a feast.  They're still talking about it this morning!"

"Did you ever find Blue Bell's Christmas Cookie that I told you about?"

"No, I gave up looking for it once I tried their Strawberry Pie flavor.  Oh, girl.... you were right.  It's to die for!"

"Well, I've got a half-gallon of it in the bottom of my chest freezer.  It's there for my son-in-law when he comes up to visit, and it's his favorite.  It will keep for up to six months.  I'll just let him get it himself, since he's so much taller than I am.  He will love me forever!"

"And, if he doesn't happen to come in the next few months, then you will just have to eat it.  Right?"

"Of course!"

We fiddled with our jelly wrappers then rolled our napkins placing them on the plastic tray.

"But I do have another carton in the freezer that I've saved just for emergencies, and last night I really needed it:  Chocolate Mint with the biggest chocolate chunks you've ever seen."

"Hmmmmm."

"But I couldn't reach it.  You know how far down the bottom of the ice chest is?  I thought I was going to fall in... really, I couldn't reach it.  So, I thought about that long-arm, grabber thingy (pinching fingers together), and I was ready to go get it, but I wasn't sure where it was.  So, I gave it one last try, and by golly, I did it... I got my finger nails under the rim of that lid and managed to get it out.  It was heaven."

"Hmmmm..."
"Hmmmm..."

After that, silence surrounded our little dining booth, and we sat there with goofy grins on our faces.  We sat there satisfied with the simple comforts of ice cream, morning breakfast biscuits and conversation with a good friend... a friend who really understood.  Life did not seem so difficult after all. 

Thank you, my friend...
Love,
Cindy



@Copyright  2012 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Pioneer Woman...the Wagon Ride

  
I envision a pioneer as an adventurer and explorer:  a bold and curious, nosy soul who travels the distance to satisfy her curiosity, to settle her dream.  My Grandmother is a fine example, or maybe it was more her husband, my Grand Daddy Kemp.

During the early 1900's they traveled from Arkansas to Oklahoma in a covered wagon... twice!  As newlyweds, the "just opened" Indian Territory offered opportunity, land and adventure:  just what a young couple desired.  But, the Oklahoma plains proved too forlorn for them.  Terribly homesick and overwhelmed, they packed everything back into their wagon and retreated back home to Arkansas.  

However, once replenished and emotionally restored, they took off again, for that same rugged, covered wagon ride.  This time they stayed and raised their five children on Oklahoma's red soil.  Maybe they had fallen in love with Oklahoma the newly titled "forty-sixth state" and its open skies, or maybe they were too weary to travel back to known opportunities, or maybe... they were just too proud.  For some reason, they dug in their toenails and stayed near the southern Red River, taming their parcel of land, parcel of possibilities.  With grit, determination, hard work and pure "hardheadedness" they conquered their "West" and carved out a homeland for their generations to follow.   They were true adventurers, and most definitely... pioneers!

That was my grand daddy Jesse Samuel and my grand mother Lizzie, and even though their "Pioneer" title appropriately applies to them, it cannot be passed on to their children or children's children. My ancestral history may contribute to my pioneer longings, but family credentials do not prove me a pioneer.  The title "Pioneer" can not be given.  It must be earned.  

Hence, I continue my quest, and ask myself again... "Am I a pioneer?".

Sincerely, 

Cindy Lou Kemp Hodges

Jesse Samuel & Elizabeth Kemp, Wedding Picture 1919

Note their eyes:  Grandpa's look of adventure, Grandma's look of steadfastness

Webster's New World Dictionary... Pioneer:  noun  1. a person who is among those who first enter or settle a region, thus opening it for occupation and development by others.
 


 

@Copyright 2012, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Peanut Butter Crispies

Here's a fall snack that's extremely easy to prepare.  My suggestion:  buy 2 boxes of Rice Chex cereal because these disappear before you know it!

1 cup white Karo syrup
1 cup white granulated sugar
1 cup peanut butter, creamy or crunchy
1 box Rice Chex cereal


Simplest Directions:  melt the sugar, syrup & peanut butter in a big sauce pan.   Add cereal.  Stir until coated.  Pour out in mounds.  Let cool.

My Way:  Pour out half the cereal into a large mixing bowl.  In sauce pan, combine karo syrup and sugar until melted together.  Stir in peanut butter until well blended. Pour half of peanut butter syrup over cereal.  Quickly add remaining cereal, then syrup mixture.  Stir until cereal is coated. Scoop spoonful sizes onto wax paper.  Let cool.  Store in airtight container to stay fresh.


This is a delicious light snack that my niece shared at our family reunion.  It's very difficult to eat just one, so beware... it is addictive!

@Copyright 2011, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Heaven & Hope

In her last few days of waking up from fourteen hour naps, she confirmed that there is a heaven.  Many gifts she gave to me, gifts for me to keep.  But this gift, this gift I dare not keep to myself.  This gift is to be shared.  So, allow me to share my Aunt Lucy with you...

Aunt Lucy had no children of her own, so she treated us nieces and nephews as royalty.  And, when her health crisis struck, we were there for her:  taking turns sitting with her at the hospital and the nursing facility.  The doctors told us that most likely she would live only a few more weeks, but Aunt Lucy had other ideas.  She lingered for more than three months.

Those months wore on and on.  We were exhausted from our sleepless nights, we were frazzled from dealing with incompetent health care workers, and we were brokenhearted that this was how Aunt Lucy was living her last days on earth.  She had no pain, surprisingly.  For this we were grateful.

Since I did not handle the night shift very well (too many noises and interruptions), the morning shift became mine.  I was there as the morning light sifted through the blinds, wondering what each day would bring.  And to my amazement, Aunt Lucy's waking murmurs intimately described what she was experiencing.

With eyelids still closed from sleeping, she clearly spoke, "Oh, how beautiful... oh, how beautiful!" over and over again.  Not just one day, but several days in a row.  As this new phenomenon continued, her intensity of sharing grew.  I would sit as close to her as possible, taking in her every word, making sure I understood what she was saying.  I understood the words.  I never questioned their meaning.  I only questioned why I was the  chosen one to be by her side during these times.

Another morning as she awakened, she clearly said,  "Oh, there's Mama.  She's waving to me.  She looks so pretty.  She's standing by the gate.  Oh, how beautiful... oh, how beautiful!"  Then she would drift back to sleep for a short, peaceful nap.

Now, I know it is just our human nature to see our mothers as we near death.  It is a completion of  life's cycle. But the next vision she shared makes even the skeptics stop and give pause.  Lucy saw someone else awaiting her... someone else waving to her.  It was her Aunt Claudie.

The family had not told Lucy about her aunt's passing away three months prior.  Not to agitate or upset her, we had kept it secret from her that we buried her Aunt Claudie on the day of  Lucy's own surgery.  It was a difficult, sad day for us...  burying one Auntie, maybe saying goodbye to another.  But, we rallied together and, somehow, kept going.

In her vision, Claudie also was standing by the gate, waving... "Oh, there's Aunt Claudie... She looks so pretty.  What a pretty dress.  Oh, how beautiful... oh, how beautiful!"  Then she continued to awaken and become part of this earthly world again, her visions fading and her smile weakening.  Clearly, our beloved aunt was straddling the line between two worlds.  She drifted from one to the other with ease and grace, and all we could do was hold her hand and offer her chips of ice.

As for me, my spirit soared with joy and the affirmation that there is a heaven, and that I will see my loved ones once again!  But, my tears could not stop, and I could not define the line between tears of sadness and tears of joy.  How do you separate the two since they are joined by the heart?  I knew that I had been given a glimpse of glory and of what is, and what is to come for all of us believers!  But that gift came with a price, and it cost me my Aunt... cost all of us our beloved Lucy.  To this day, I still think, "What an incredible experience given to me in that one small room, stuck in a corner, in a nursing home in the little town of Calera, Oklahoma!"

The last comment Aunt Lucy shared made me dig in my Bible.  And sure enough, I found in *Revelation 5:8 what she was experiencing.  "Oh, how beautiful..." she whispered.  And smiling she said, "Mmmm... it smells so good."  "Can you smell it?"  she asked.  "It smells so sweet.  Oh, oh... oh, how beautiful!"

And, then late one evening... her earthly body wore out, and she left us. Her spirit went on to that beautiful place, but she did not leave us hopeless.  I know that she joined Jesus, and I know that she had loved ones waiting for her, because she told me so.  What a joyous reunion it must have been... one planned and blessed by God!

So, my friend, since Aunt Lucy so willingly and lovingly shared who she was and what she saw... I pass this on to you.  I don't want her to be forgotten, and her message must live on.   She gave us all many gifts, but the greatest gift of all is the gift of hope!   There is a Savior, and He has prepared a place for us... a beautiful one with my loving Grandmother and my aunties... one that smells so sweet... and one that has a gate!

Now, that's a promise... "Oh, oh... oh, how beautiful!"

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou


* "...and they were holding golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints."  --Holy Bible, Revelation 5:8  (This is what Aunt Lucy was smelling that smelled so sweet.)

 
"Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Trust in God, trust also in me.  In my Father's house are many rooms;  if it were not so, I would have told you.  I am going there to prepare a place for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am."  --Holy Bible, John 14:1-3
(This verse is one Aunt Lucy used to comfort us before her surgery.  She quoted it from memory.)


Verses for reference:


"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God..."  --Holy Bible... Romans 3: 23

"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." 
-- Holy Bible... Romans 6:23

"Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.' "   --Holy Bible... John 14: 6

"That if you confess with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved."  --Holy Bible... Romans 10:9




@Copyright 2011, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Heart Attack! Chapter 2...

Chapter Two - The Journey

"Husband... heart attack... Two hours away... take a deep breath, Cindy."  "I can't..."

Logic took over my actions as emotions quivered my thinking.  Throwing belongings into my suitcase, I dialed my brother's phone number, praying he would answer his phone.  He did, but even big brother's voice could not abate the fear that arose in my throat.  He said he would call his wife and see if she were available to drive the 3 hour trip to stay with Mama until he could get there the next day.  Of course, and thankfully... she agreed and told me not to worry about Mama:  she would get there as fast as she could.  God bless her.  God bless him.

Telling Mama that I had to go without her and leave her behind, broke her heart:  mine, too... but there was no way I could take care of her and be at the hospital also.  She cried more than I, but I could not take the time to console her.  Nor could I break down:  too much to do and too many miles to travel.

The highways between here and there were all too familiar, and the expected speed traps were no where in sight.  Truckers moved aside for me as if someone had gone ahead and prepared my pathway, and my gas tank I had filled just the day before.  It all seemed like deja vu, only this time I was driving in the opposite direction of the previous emergencies, and this time.... well, this time was different.

I was worried about our son.  He would be there at the hospital by himself, shouldering this burden alone; and with his one month old baby, he was already on emotional overload.   Asking family friends to sit and wait with Steve was the one thing I as a mother could do.  I feared the worse, hoped for the best, but still knew anything could happen, and I didn't want our son to face it alone.  He needed someone to lean on... just in case.  Gratefully, the friends I called dropped what they were doing and rushed to the hospital.  They hurried, then had to wait.  But they did.  God bless them.

As I entered the city, one of my ministers from church called to tell me he was almost at the hospital and would see me there.  I fought back the fear.. and the tears.  God bless him, too.

"Oh, God... please don't forsake us.  Please watch over Richard, and his medical team.  Have mercy on him, Lord.  He's such a good man.  Please take care of Steve.  Please watch over Mama.  Thank you God for friends, for family, for medical professionals.  Oh, God... please help... please.  Help me be strong, once again... Oh, God..."

The folks at the information desk were helpful, but very slow talkers.  They didn't realize I was in panic mode.  I just wanted them to point and give me simple directions to CCU:  I walked away from them as they were still talking.  Rounding the corner  I saw a volunteer I knew, but I didn't dare slow down because my son was standing waiting for me, and there by his side was his lovely little wife. 

With strained voice he said, "Do you want the facts or the chronological order of happenings?"  He's an engineer, just like his dad.  I replied, "The facts."  "He's stable.  The cardiac team found nothing else of concern on their second look at Dad's arteries."  He proceeded to tell about the heart attack, the one stent, the shocking, the CPR, Code Blue, and his dad's stubbornness.  That I already knew about!

"He's stable." pounded in my heart... I could see him.  I could hold him.  I could kiss him.  I could scold him for not telling me or anyone else that he was in trouble.  But this last one should wait.  My husband was alive, and he was "stable".  For this I rejoiced!

I hugged my kids.  I hugged my friends who so lovingly supported us and thanked them for being there with Steve, for Steve, and for Richard and me.  I wiped off my tears, but they kept rolling.  And then I took off for the CCU. 

"I don't know which room he's in," but my feet kept walking anyway.  As the automatic doors opened, a surge of strength kept me upright, but fear and anger chiseled away at my very core.  Without introducing myself, or even speaking to them, the nurses pointed to his room.  They had been watching for me... "the missing wife," and they continued watching me as I entered his room.

(to be continued...)



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Heart Attack! Didn't I Tell You?

Chapter One - The Phone Call

Note to the reader:  I'm asking myself why I'm sharing something so personal and intimate about our family, and I guess there are two reasons.  #1.  It could be beneficial to you or someone you love:  perhaps you can learn from our mistakes.  #2.  Perhaps I can learn from our mistakes.

Sometimes you get hit hard, right in the gut, and your response is and can only be... a gasp for air. 

It wasn't me who had the heart attack, but my husband.  At age 62, he seemed the picture of health:  one without a family history of heart disease, and a man who loves to golf and play tennis.  That's what he did the eve of his heart attack:  play tennis.  The day before, he played several rounds of golf, and had chest pains afterwards.  The pain subsided after a few hours, so the next day, he pretended that nothing was wrong.  He played tennis for an hour, and then quit. 

He came home with pain, and stayed awake with pain all night until 5:00 a.m. the next morning, Thursday, January 6, 2011.  Then he drove himself to the emergency room which is about fifteen minutes away.  The medical people easily recognized the symptoms and asked him which family members they should call.  He said, "No one.... don't bother them.  My wife's out of town."  I was.  It was true.  I was two hours away in Oklahoma with my mother, caring for her, but that was no reason to not call me. 

The nurses and doctors pushed further, "Mr. Hodges, you are having a heart attack right now, and you have been having one for some time.  We're taking you up to the Cath Lab immediately.  We need to call your family and let them know.  "Who can we call?"  Still, he stubbornly said, "No.... don't bother them."

What on earth was he thinking???  The man was having a heart attack, and he wouldn't let his family know about it!

Communication in our marriage, all thirty-eight years, has always been an issue.  I give too much info, or at least I used to, and he gives too little.  He has never been much for conversation.  Over the course of time, my conversations and sentences have shortened because I can tell when he's on overload and received too much information.  You know how we women are, we can tell when we are being "tuned out", and you know how men are:  they think we just ramble.  So, sometime or somewhere, I just sort of quit trying.  I felt that having to pull and prod him just to gather information was a waste of energy.  I don't know what he felt... perhaps he felt that I was intrusive.  Perhaps he just didn't want me to know more than he offered.  Perhaps he felt I already knew what I needed to know... perhaps. 

Or perhaps he was trying to protect me.  Our last fifteen months dealing with my mother's health issues had stretched us beyond all boundaries of normalcy.  We were exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally, plus we were still trying to figure out the next part of her life:  ours, too.  We had lived away from home and away from each other more in that time period than we had ever done so, and thousands of those hours were spent at hospitals and other medical care facilities with Mama.  Perhaps he was still in denial that the heart attack was really happening, and that this time HE was the patient, and I, once again, the caregiver.

I don't know what he was thinking.  Our son doesn't know, either.  He was just ten minutes away and could have, would have driven his dad to the ER, or would have called 911.  Our son is just as bewildered as I about his dad's silence.

The cardiologist found one artery 95% clogged and inserted one stent.  The other arteries were only mildly blocked and required no stents, thank goodness.  Once stable, my husband was rolled down to his room in CC (Cardiac Care).  Soon upon his arrival, his heart rhythms were so out of sync, that the cardiac team had to shock his heart and then perform CPR:  otherwise, Code Blue.

That's when his nurse became emphatic, "Mr. Hodges... we have to call someone!  Let me call your wife or your son!"  My husband, annoyed from being awakened from such "good sleep" as he called it, just wanted to go back to sleep.  So, he agreed and gave her permission to call.  She did immediately!

About 10:30  that Thursday morning I received a phone call from a very persuasive woman claiming to be a cardiac nurse, and that my husband had just had a heart attack!  She continued telling me that they had to do CPR on him, and shock his heart, and that they were at that time taking him back up to the Cath Lab to see if they had missed anything!  She said that I needed to be there!  As she was hanging up the phone she said that she would then call our son to alert him.

With the sound of her voice reeling in my head, it never occurred to me to doubt the reality of this phone call.  Immediately I tried to figure out what I should do first.  There I was taking care of my mother who couldn't stay long by herself without assistance, but now I needed to be in Texas caring for my husband, my dearly beloved, hard-headed, hard-to-understand, stubborn husband who had just had a heart attack.  I needed to be and wanted to be with him, beside him...  whether he made it through this heart attack or... not. 

"Why, oh why hadn't I called him the night before?"  It had been two days since we had last talked.  Now it didn't make any sense at all that we hadn't phoned each other, but earlier I had felt that if he wanted to talk or had something to say, he would have called me.   "Why, oh, why hadn't I called him just to check on him?  All I had to do was pick up the phone ."  "Why's?, "Why not's?", and "What now's?"  kept flooding my mind.

I felt like I had been punched in the gut... hard... really, really hard.


(to be continued...)



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

And She Was Born, Chapter 3

Chapter Three - "Be Still, My Heart"

With "baby's heart beat dangerously low .. dangerously low" running through my head, I desperately prayed for the safety of my loved ones.  Our baby was in danger!  My daughter-in-law, too, and my assignments were plain:  find her parents and pray!

"Run, run!"  I hurried up and down the winding hallways until I found them, and it was a mutual joy to see each other at last.   Hugs, words, and hand motions filled the empty air as anticipation and worry hung all around us.  We mothers talked back & forth as women naturally do, while the maternal grandfather translated Vietnamese words into English, and English words into Vietnamese.  Tears and facial expressions were totally  understood, and sighs of angst needed no explanation.  We were there for our kids, and we were there for each other.  No translator was necessary to express the clash of joy and fear we all felt. That was a given.

We talked, translated, "hand gestured", laughed, cried, sat still, paced the floor, prayed, sighed... then repeated it all over again and again until... at long last, at 1:30 a.m. December 2, 2010...  the closed hospital room door burst open!  In came a caravan of feet:  all covered with blue booties.  Heads and faces wore the disposable caps and masks, and arms of blue pushed the hospital bed back into place.  I tried my best to find my son in the parade of scrubs, but my eyes were fixed on the beautiful vision that lay before me on a cloud of white.

Never had I seen my daughter-in-law look lovelier.  A sense of calm and peace surrounded her giving no hint to the trauma her body had just experienced.  She glowed with beauty and grace as she lovingly cradled her new born child.  Never had I seen so clearly through tear-soaked eyes.  And, of course, never had I seen my very own grandchild.  But, there she was... finally... she was born!  She was here. And she was exquisite!!!  Tiny at 5 pounds, 15.5 ounces, her little lungs worked on their own, and her steady little heart had already melted all the big hearts in that room.

As I tried to memorize the moment, my eyes lifted and amidst all the patches of blue masks, I found those eyes I've known and loved for over thirty-three years.  So tender, so puffy, so sweet.  The new daddy, my courageous son, stood proud and strong!  Like a soldier on guard, he commanded the room.  No one could tell that his knees shook.  No one could tell that his heart trembled.  No one knew how close he came to passing out during the emergency C-section. No one, but me his Mama... and, well... the surgical team.

Relief and joy must be side by side on the emotional scale, because when there is doubt that joy will occur, and it finally does... the joy is magnificient!  It explodes upon arrival!  And, I'd say that the emotional Richter scale in that hospital wing was so high it reached clear into heaven. I felt that heaven and earth connected, once again the very same night, and the proof was our little baby girl, Evelien Claire Hodges.  As I touched my cheek to her soft, warm, tiny face, my soul better understood the miracle that I held.  The lyrics of the song that I had sung just hours earlier came alive as never before:  *"And when you kiss your little baby... you've kissed the face of God..."  What an incredible feeling! 

Just like I said at the beginning of my story, it was a star-studded night.  It was a glorious night, a glorious sight to see my kids shine like the stars!   My children, our children, became what we once became.  And we became what our parents had once become.  The awe of the miracle of life filled my soul, and I will never, never be the same.  I am now Grandmother, yet I am still me.  I don't know how to put the two together, but I will do my darndest to be a good Grandmother.  Friends tell me that it comes naturally.  But, I don't know.  I've never been a grandmother, and I am walking into the realms of the unknown.  It's times like this that it would be nice to have a friend, a girlfriend.  Someone to talk to and someone to hold my hand and tell me "do this... go this way... go that way, say this, be smart... don't say that".  You know, a buddy... we all need one, especially me.

So, I will be calling upon my mother, "Nanny", who offers wisdom and love:  my cherished friend so dear to my heart who fought tenaciously for over a year to still be alive, and who now says it was all worth it just to see our new little life.  I will also call upon my friends, and I will gladly welcome their advice, which they freely will offer.  But, you know... there is someone else... someone to walk with me me... someone else to hold my hand.  Oh, joy... be still my heart... rejoice my soul!  The hand I hold is so tiny.  It's so soft, and it is so beautiful.  It's a girl!  And her name is... Baby Evelien!!!

Halleluja!  Hosannas!  And hugs!  Here I go into this new phase of my life, holding hands with my established friends and with my new little friend, and wondering,  "at what point will the grown up act more like the child?"  Hmmmmmm..... I think that's already happened.  Yes, I have turned into a silly old Grandma, one with rhinestone bling!

Guess you better, "Look out world!"   Here I come with my marching orders and my Grandma boots on.  Dolls and dishes, are packed in my back pack, and lots of pink fluffly things are in my purse.  Tissues & wet wipes, diapers & bibs, phone numbers, and a direct line to heaven that's available all the time:  they're all a part of my entourage, and it feels so good!  I am blessed to be a Grandma, blessed to have been a part of this thrilling adventure, and I am so blessed to be at this stage of my life.

Guess you can call me "Blessed among women".  Or you can call me Cindy.  You can call me Cindy Lou, or you can call me Grammy.  But, as they say... just don't call me when I'm babysitting.  I'll be too busy to answer! 

Sincerely,
Me, still me, whoever that is.


Evelien & Grammy, first embrace...

p.s. #1  Remember the pink cakes from Chapter One?  Well, the extra pink cake was the perfect way to celebrate the arrival of our baby girl!  We all enjoyed the pink, fluffly, strawberry cake decorated with all the foofoo on top.  It was Evelien's very first birthday cake!  Who would have thought she would come so early?  Isn't it amazing that I made an extra cake?  Isn't it great that I made pink cakes?  Ahhhh... sweet times! 

p.s. #2  You may wonder where my husband was during this memorable night.  Well, he was in Oklahoma with my mother, caring for her.  What a great guy!  I kept him and "Nanny" informed all evening via text messages and phone calls.  He loaded up all of Nanny's things the very next morning, and with a fully-packed van, they hurried down to Texas to meet our new baby girl.  Ahhhh... the family was all together!  Sweet, sweet times, indeed!


p.s. #3  Thank you, God!  Thank you.



*"Mary, Did You Know?"... song lyrics by Gary Lowry

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

And She Was Born, Chapter 2

Chapter Two - "The 2nd Floor"

Unbeknown to me, my daughter-in-law had been in labor all day, but went to work anyway, not knowing that it was "the real thing"!  My son played an hour-long game of volleyball that evening, while "Mommie" stayed home and packed her suitcase between contractions.  By 9:00 p.m. they decided that maybe they should go to the hospital, "this just might be serious".  Do ya, think???

Hence, the text message sent to me, "We at hospital.  She may be early...!"

I think I was kind of noisy:  "Errr---Screech!  Slam!  High-heeled clomp-clomps!"  I ran to the ER desk, and some gracious woman led me through the hall ways to the elevator that would take me to the maternity wing.  I was on the ride of my life, and as the elevator doors closed I said goodbye to my life as it had been, and with their opening I said hello to my greatest adventure ever.  The profound words of a budding new grandmother then blurted out from me as I viewed the 2nd floor, "sheez... now, uh, which way did she say to go???"

When I found my brave kids, it was quite obvious to me that they weren't kids anymore, and that I was no longer a young adult.  We were all stepping up to a new level and a higher status in our adult lives, and this new little life coming to join us would challenge us all to rise to the calling.  I saw my son hovering over his lovely wife, tenderly talking to her, and calmly reading the numbers on the monitor.  I saw my daughter-in-law quietly endure the contractions, then mildly say, "that was a big one."  I heard the nurse announce,  "this baby is coming tonight, probably before midnight!"  And off they rolled them to the birthing room.

At that point the situation escalated so rapidly that my head still spins.  I stepped out of the birthing room while the epidural was given and waited in the waiting area. I understand that within minutes the epidural took effect and eased Mommie's pain, but our baby girl's heartbeat dropped rapidly.  I waited and waited for what seemed eternities far too long.  Then I received an alarming text, "Heartbeat low.  csection.  rite now."  "Her parents around somewhere.  please try find." 

(to be continued...)



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

And She Was Born, Chapter 1

Five years ago... Happy Birthday, Evelien Claire Hodges!

Grammy's & Evelien's First Embrace

This story has taken a long time to put in text, and I can't explain why it's been such a challenge for me to document, other than I feel that my words are totally inadequate to express the wonderment and joy of the unfolding events.  I finally decided that someday, maybe I'll get to tell you in person, and that the joy on my face will tell it all.  I would love to tell you face to face and can't wait until that happens.  But, in the meantime... this written story will have to do.

There will be more than one chapter to my story.  How many?  I don't know yet.  That's to be determined.  But, I decided that I must get busy, for new adventures are happening everyday, and I'm already behind on sharing them.  So, here I go, as best I can, telling this story that is so near & dear to my heart.

Chapter One - Grammy's Night Out

There were over forty of us entertaining together that night, and we ladies of the Performing Arts Department beamed with pride that we "mature women" had managed to attract a "full house".  Tickets had sold out, hours of rehearsals were behind us, and our new black outfits with rhinestone bling defined our newly elevated status as "bonafied performers".  December 2, 2010 definitely was a star studded night, and we were a part of the glimmer and shine, and I... I was about to begin my long awaited, long hoped for, long dreamed of role as "Grand Mamah", or as we say here in Texas... "Grandma"!

Now, you're gonna' have to give this ol' girl some leeway here.  'Cause you see, I'm gonna' tell you this story as it happened, and I'm gonna' enjoy telling it.  So, you just need to sit back and relax and let this new Grandma "splut" a little...

Desserts & coffee were the planned menu.  Most of us ladies baked our favorite, prize winning recipes.  We wanted our guests to feast with their eyes as well as with their taste buds, so, I did my part.  I baked my famous strawberry cake.  Actually, I baked two of them.  Why not, since I was dirtying up the kitchen, anyway?  Well, my cake, uh-hum, cakes had a hard time in the oven, and the layers baked terribly unlevel.  Guess my house had shifted a little on its foundation, or I had the shelves in kind of crooked.  Still don't know what happened. 

So, to improve my dilemma by giving me extra icing with which to work, I improvised and tried adding marshmallow creme to the frosting.  What a great idea, huh?  It would make the cake extra gooey and rich, and everyone would wonder what the magical ingredient could be.  All would be clamoring for my recipe, and I would be the talk of the Women's Club.  Why, I would become famous, all because of a pink, fluffy, melt-in-your mouth mystery known as marshmallow creme frosting. You got it...  I added more!

Famous, indeed.   My pink strawberry cake turned out to be one of the biggest flops from my kitchen, ever!  It was a "lop-sided", "sticky icing oozing out", "layers stuck together", "pink" kind of mud pie.  A three-year old could have done better than this.  It definitely had a difficult life:  so did I right about then.  But, I salvaged the best looking one of the two cakes and provided toppings of whipped cream, strawberry glaze, fresh strawberries, and mint leaves to garnish and cover up the blob of cake beneath.  This was one of the most expensive cakes I'd ever put together:  money, yes... time, astronomical... worry, unbelievable!  The kitchen crew saved it for last, if that tells you anything about its appearance.  At least I tried... really, really tried, and I'm happy to say that the musical performance that followed out shined my cake, and that's a good thing!

Our ladies sang the wonderful Christmas songs we all love, as well as romantic standards from the 40's, while I played the keyboard and directed them from out front.  As musical director I felt a sense of pride, and our drama director smiled approvingly.  Our ladies had worked hard to memorize their music and to learn the art of singing as a choir, and all the hard work had finally turned an "almost good" choir into an "outstanding" choir.  Yes, the PAD ladies were great!  The audience responded enthusiastically to each of our songs; clapping and laughing and the holiday spirit glowed on each and every face.  Even when Santa's visit stole the show, we carried on our musical number as if his upstaging us had been the planned agenda.  It was fun to see Santa!  It was fun to sing and laugh!  Yes, it was a magical evening, for sure.

As our program segued to the sacred portion of the evening, a wonderful hush fell over the room.  The Christmas story from Luke was read while I softly played "O Holy Night" behind the narration.  The true meaning of Christmas was being revealed:  the reason for our joy, and I sensed a feeling of wonderment as I began to sing, *"Mary, Did You Know?"

Accompanying myself on the keyboard, I stood before the audience as the words flowed, "Mary, did you know your baby boy has walked where angels trod?... and when you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God... Mary, did you know?".

When finished singing, I felt like God had been in that very room, and that He was still there with us.  A holy hush hung in the air, and I felt  totally surrounded by peace and calm and stillness.  Even the candles' flickers seemed to stop in motion while no one coughed, no one chinked their water glass, and no one whispered a word.

Some moments are just too intimate to talk about, and some moments are just indescribable because words are mere echoes of the emotional well within.  Then there are those moments that are to be pondered and dwelled on and thought about.  So it was with these.  Here it is almost six weeks later, and I'm still lingering there in my mind and still in awe that I was right in the middle of something very, very special.

The program soon ended, and I'd say that most were blessed by our gathering together, and that everyone enjoyed the evening.  We had a grand time.  We ladies in our new black outfits nodded approvingly to each other as we kicked off our shoes and  hugged and congratulated ourselves.  After all, we had put long, hard hours into this one performance.  Time and effort had paid off.  Funds were raised for scholarships, friends & families enjoyed the evening, and friendships grew even stronger.  After cleaning up... it was finally time to say good night and to leave the festivities behind.  So on Thursday evening, December 2, 2010, at 9:45 p.m. I gathered my musical notebook, tote bag, purse, the sticky cake carrier thing, and rhinestone earrings in hand.  It was time to go home and call it a day, or a night... or so I thought.

Driving away from the building, I turned on my cell phone to check any missed calls or messages.   The new text message from my son read:  "We at hospital.  She may be early..."!

"Oh, my gosh!  She's not due until three weeks from now.  Oh, my gosh, my gosh, gosh, gosh...!"  With suddened teary eyes  and with trembling limbs, I boldly executed a cock-eyed, wild-ride, illegal U-turn... right there in the middle of the street, in the middle of the city, right there in the middle of the big old state of Texas!  This Granny-to-Be was on her way to the hospital... rhinestones, pink sticky icing on her clothes, and all.  As I floor boarded it, I kept chanting  loud and clear, clear across Texas... "I'm comin' kids... I'm comin'...!  Hold on, Grammy's coming...!"

(to be continued...)

p.s.  Never, ever add Marshmallow creme to your regular powdered sugar frosting!  Big mistake!!!

Repaired cake.  Yes... those are straws sticking out of it!  Sigh...

Salvaged cake... Pink Strawberry Cake ready to be served!  Viola'...
Strawberry Cake Recipe: http://yoohoocindylou.blogspot.com/p/food.html


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

*"Mary, Did You Know" song lyrics by Mark Lowry

The Daddy Bear Hug

Written three years ago, but it seems like yesterday...

 I sit on the bench, a lot, and I have a bird's eye view of people.  They don't know that I'm observing them, and sometimes I'm not even aware of it myself.  But, this particular instance gripped my heart and still pulls on my heart strings, and I feel compelled to share it with you.

Saturday morning's dress rehearsal called in the entire cast:  orchestra, choir, drama team, media team, and even the children's choir.  We all felt the excitement of the next day's performances.  Christmas music filled the sanctuary as it flowed through our fingers, through our voices, and from our hearts, and I felt extremely good about the music because this year I was prepared.  Or, so I thought.

Rehearsed and ready to go, I listened as our director called for the opening orchestral prelude.  Oh, my gosh... I had forgotten all about that one!!!  I had all the choir's music on my agenda, but had totally forgotten about anything and everything else, including the prelude.  When I looked at the score, I knew I was in big trouble, and that this was not a piece I could jump in and successfully sight read.  Even with a week's rehearsal, my fingers still might not be able to move as quickly as the tempo required, so I swallowed hard and tried not to panic or fall off the bench as the director began the downbeat.

It's a sinking feeling when you realize you are about to be exposed... when your mistakes are made public, and all those around you see your inadequacies and your faults.  No one likes to stumble-fumble, especially in front of an audience, and it surely hurts our pride when we do.  But, that's what happened to me.


The orchestra played through it once, then our director gave the call to play it again.  So, I fell flat on my face twice. I was so embarrassed, and extremely mad at myself for my blunder, and I couldn't blame anyone else for this mistake, ah, these mistakes.  This was my fault.  It was one of those moments where you feel like a little kid again, a kid at school who hasn't done her homework.  You know that feeling of when your head droops, and your shoulders drag the ground, and you wish you could crawl under the bed with a bag of cookies.  I felt terribly low and needed a hug or a good cry!  But, instead, I promised my "patient" musical director that I would know it by "tomorrow", and he smiled.  Thank heavens he's a trusting soul!

Things improved from then on, I'm so glad to say, and there were no outstanding glitches in the music.  My feelings of "rattledness" and low self-esteem began to fade away as the music flowed and lifted us all to a "higher" place.  The choir in the loft sang boldly and beautifully, and the celebration of our Lord's birth was proclaimed through the many talents present in the room.  All was well, once again.  

When it was time for the children to come onstage, they enthusiastically jumped up and scrambled up the stairs to their proper places.  One of our pretty girls tripped on the last two steps and did sort of a butterfly flittering with her arms & legs:  quite graceful, actually, for a stumble.  It wasn't that noticeable until she began her giggling and landed with a sort of unexpected "thud".  She handled it very well.  She landed upright, and nothing was injured, thank goodness.  Everything was intact; nothing hurt, except her pride.

Ah, I knew that feeling all too well for I, also, had landed upright, but with wounded pride.  She and I were now kindred spirits, and my heart ached for her.  I knew exactly how she felt, and I wanted to tell her "there, there now... it's okay", but I didn't need to because someone else thought of it before I did; someone even more appropriate than I.  Her daddy was in the orchestra, and he saw it all unfold.  That man didn't miss a beat!  As her giggling continued, he jumped up from his chair and hurried  over to her and gave her one huge bear hug!  He patted her lovingly on the shoulders and whispered something secretly in her ear. Then her daddy walked back to his assigned place in the orchestra and resumed his playing, while she joined in with her choir as if nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened.  Something magical had just occurred, and I witnessed it firsthand.  Her smile told more than she realized, and I breathed a sigh of relief for her. With that one unselfish act of kindness, love had filled the room, and there was so much of it that even I, way over on the piano bench, felt loved.   Wow... it was a powerful experience!  It was precious to watch, and it was a perfect picture of why we were there and of what we were all celebrating.

It's all about a father's love:  the Christmas season.  Isn't it?  We all need it so desperately, and God our Father gives it abundantly to all who receive Him.  We all stumble in our own ways... our pretty young lady, me, you, all of us... and there's nothing sweeter than love picking us back up and wrapping its arms around us and hearing it lovingly say, "there, there now... I love you, baby.  It's okay, and everything's gonna be alright".
 
Mmmm... that's a mighty good feeling, and one I wish for all of us, whether we deserve it, or not. They say that love isn't love until we give it away.  So, since this is the Christmas Season, let's find someone who needs a good ol' bear hug, and let's go out there together and share the Good News. There is a world out there who is hungry for someone to love them, and there is a Someone who does.  His name is Jesus.

Christ is born, and He shall reign forever, and ever!
 
May God bless us, one and all today... and because we stumble, may we all keep a firm grip on our loving Father's hand.

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou

 ³⁰And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.
 ³¹And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS.
 ³²He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David:
 ³³And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.
                                    ----Luke 1:30-33  New International Version Bible

                                                

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

The Clothesline

I enjoy my living room with its gold, amber & crimson colors.  The visual warmth surrounds me and welcomes me onto its cushions and beckons me to stay awhile.  Except for this morning!

He told me that he had washed a load of laundry and spread it out for it to finish drying, and that it was in the living room on the love seat.  (That's our modern day clothesline around here, that, and the sofa.)   This is normal at my house because I have a husband who knows how to do laundry and doesn't seem to mind doing it.  Fortunate am I.  Entertained, also.  The laundry load was "whites":  his underwear & our socks.  I know you're already thinking that he mixed colors in with the whites, but that's not so.  He is very good at the job, and today's story takes a different direction, so just sit back and let me continue.

In my morning stupor, I rambled through the house waking up, and my mind drifted back to my real clothesline days in Duncan, Oklahoma.  My parents, brother and I lived on the northern edge of town on five acres with a big front yard.  Tall oak and blackjack trees dotted the fence line and a few peach trees stood between the oaks and the big, long clothesline. Even with the trees, the view of the clothesline was quite public and anything on display there was like a giant checkered flag waving at all passersby calling, "Look at me.  Look at me!"

I thought nothing of it until I became a "developing" young woman.  Now, I am certain that I didn't do my fair share of laundry or other household chores, but it when it came time to hang out the clothes, I just nearly died when I had to hang out my brother's & daddy's  underwear and mama's & my  panties and  bras.  I always saved them for the last, and I always did my best to hide them, pinning them on the middle of the three wire lines with the towels, sheets & such hanging on the outer lines.  I even tried double & triple layering items, but they took forever to dry.  When I was out there, I worked as fast as I could, hoping no one would see me or notice the "underwear" flapping in the breeze.

You need to understand that this was before we had a real clothes dryer, and we weren't the only family who used nature to dry our clothes.  But, it seems to me that we had the longest clothesline in town, and this girl wanted to be like my uptown girlfriends who finished their laundry inside.  I remember when the city changed our street name from North 10th to Country Club Road, how excited I was about now being a "city girl".  But when I had to hang out clothes, my embarrassment quadrupled!  How could we be so "country" when we lived on a city street called "Country Club Road"???  "Why couldn't we get a dryer like normal people???"  "Why? Why? Why?"  Mama & Daddy paid no attention to my whining.  They just smiled when they handed me a laundry basket of wet, clean clothes and pushed me out the door.

Just so you'll know I'm not completely dumb, I finally did realize that I could hang the lady garments inside over the bathtub.  That was a small victory for pride, and such an easy solution.  It just took me several years to figure it out, though... some of us folks are just kind of slow at progress, and I guess I'm one of them. 

Golly, that was about forty years ago.  And, now, I'm back to the present time.  I thought what a neat story I could write about my husband's string of white undies spread all over the living room love seat.  But, when I walked in with my camera to capture the vision, he had already removed half of the proof.  When he realized what I was doing, he blocked my camera shot, and then he shamed me for making fun of his efforts to help with the laundry.  We laughed, and I teased him about putting it all back so I could show you how funny it all looked, but he didn't seem to think it was too funny.  Now, that's funny! 

So here I sit, telling it all, and this may be the last time he washes my socks.  It may take me a few years to figure out why, since some of us folks are just kind of  slow at progress, and I guess I'm one of them... but, oh... what fun!

Since I have no picture to show you, just use your imagination.  Stark white men's underwear (drawers, as we used to say) and white socks of all shapes & sizes strewn across the Mediterranean love seat.  A vision of oxymorons, or let me say... oxipowders!

Pardon me while I continue...
You may pick one of the following as my closing line:

Cheers to the clotheslines of now & then!
Hip-hip hoorays to those who get my Dreft!

May the Tide of change be easy for All!

Blessed are those who are Downy and hung out to dry.

Wisking you easy stain removal as you Shout your colors loud & strong.

May Gain restrain your Arm & Hammer.

Resolve to Bounce back to days of Ivory Snow.

May clean laundry be yours as you Spray & Wash, Purex & Clorox.

and my favorite...

Snuggles  to you!

Laughing and looking feverishly for my clean, white socks...

Cindy Lou



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

I Am a Tree

"I am a tree.
My roots grow deep.
I'm planted by The River... The River of Life.
Hosanna's in the wind.
Hosanna's in the rain.
Hosanna's in the air I breathe.
My life He does sustain."
                                   --Cindy Lou Hodges


For months this song was my mantra:  not a happy tune, but a mournful confirmation that I could weather the storm that raged around me.  I sang it to myself while she lay in the hospital flat on her back.  I murmured it as she vacillated from one surgery to the next, from critical condition to serious condition, then agonizingly back to critical.  I remembered it as she lingered near death from staff infections, and it was one of the songs I sang as I crossed the state line commuting back & forth from my home to her multiple care facilities.  It was on my lips as my own personal lullaby at three o'clock in the mornings, and at times it boomed out of me as a defense against the enemy of hopelessness.  As she was fighting for life:  I was fighting for hope... enough for both of us.

That seems like just yesterday, and that yesterday seemed like an eternity.  Only God knows how distraught we all were, and how close we were to quitting.  On the inside I struggled for sanity, while on the outside I struggled for courage.  Taking each step required stepping out in faith and numerous reminders to myself that I could do it... one step at a time.

Whenever setbacks & disappointments knocked the wind out of me, the vision of a mighty tree came to mind, and I imagined my feet sinking deeper and deeper into the solid ground.  I imagined my care giving as an oasis such as the top of a tree is sanctuary for living creatures.  When I felt the world dumping on me, as certain animals seek out trees to mark their territory, I realized that that was just part of being alive... part of being a tree. It would not destroy me, and it might even make me stronger. Time & time again, I would once more try to rise to the task awaiting me.  One more time to encourage myself.  One more time to believe... "I am a tree... my roots go deep.  I'm planted by The River".

Only God knows how... but, here we are, one year after the fall & initial broken hip.  We are home at her house... together, and life is different now.  It is sweeter, and it is easier than it has been. The infections are suppressed.  The surgeries are over.  The hospital bed no longer cradles her immobile, tortured body, and the parade of caregivers has calmed down to a slow, steady pace of two a week.  Sleep has returned once again, and this "welcomed back" friend allows me to sleep through the earlier known three o'clock awakenings.  I even dream again, and instead of fear and darkness, my dreams take me to happy places.

Yes, life is more precious to me now.  Today I saw bluebirds out the kitchen window, and I called Mama to come look.  She struggled to get out of her wheelchair so that she could see the birds flying from the oak tree to the blue bird houses.  Those beautiful blue feathered friends were scouting out the perfect place for their autumn nests:  the perfect place to lay their tiny blue eggs.  That made her smile.  Made us both smile.

Then later, as I finished showering, I heard talking coming from somewhere in the house.  I couldn't distinguish who or what it was, so I opened the bathroom door to better hear.  "Who was she talking to?  Was she watching TV?"  Then I heard... it was singing:  one of the lovliest sounds I have ever heard.  With a voice as clear as a songbird, and with the steadiness of a flowing river, my Mama, Ms. Dimple was singing once again.  It wasn't a song of mourning.  It wasn't a cry for help.  It was a simple song of joy, unintended for my ears to hear.  But, I did, and I'm so glad.  I'm not sure who enjoyed it more:  her, God, or me.  But, it was one of those heavenly moments when all nature is in perfect harmony, and everything in the world seems all right.  It was music to my ears... sweet, wonderful music!

Like I said... life is sweeter now... for her, for me... for all of us!
"I am a tree... my roots grow deep."
God is my strength.
Of that, I am sure.

Cindy Lou


"Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.  But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.  And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper."  ---Psalm 1:1-3  Holy Bible, King James Version

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

Dire Consequences

"Out of coffee creamer this morning... Ugh! Have to be tough this morning and drink it black... Yuck! It's tough being a grown-up, tougher acting like one! :)"       ---posted on Face Book 9-18-2010

How do you envision yourself?  Do you see yourself as a competent adult?  Do you think of yourself as a kid in a grown up body?  Do you think of yourself as a team player?  Do you consider yourself a loner?  Do you consider yourself unique and a contribution to society?  How do you perceive yourself?  Really?

After posting today's comment on Face Book, I realized that I unconsciously exposed the real me!  Scary thought!  Wish I could retrieve my comment not just from Face Book, but from my mind and replace it with something more...... hmmmm, think I'll say, "grown-up".

It would thrill me if I could philosophically convince others that I am an intellect, and that I am consistently so, but a greater thrill would be if I could convince myself.  Even though, even I have a few "light bulb" moments, I don't see myself as a "thinker".  But I guess I am, at least right now.  The proof is here in front of me.

As I searched for some kind of coffee creamer this morning, my mind wandered back to some of my very first coffee experiences.  Grandma & Papa allowed me to use a cup & saucer, sometimes the LuRay yellow set, which was my very favorite.  But at our house we used mugs:  durable, sturdy, utility type mugs.  They were green, a light colored green with a few rough edges here & there.  When I complained about the roughness on the handle, Daddy just looked at me and said with a wink, that those rough edges would make me tough.  He also said something that I still laugh about.  He said that drinking coffee black would make black hairs grow on my chest!  Really, now!!!   Really?  For real???

So, here I sit, drinking my morning brew, pondering what to say:  pondering what to think.  I'm philosophizing and trying to convince myself and you, that I'm a smart person... that I am a smart woman.  But I can see that today I won't win that debate, because when it came right down to it, I just couldn't drink my coffee black.  No way...Yuck.  Not only does it taste bad that way, but it could have dire consequences if I do.  Really.  Really?  Really.  And, after all... I am a smart woman!

Really.

Cheers to all those folks who give us good memories and good things to smile about!  Raise your cups. Raise your mugs.  Raise your praise high.  Bravo, my friends, Bravo... and thank you!

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All rights reserved.