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.

The Piano Lesson

The piano movers are coming tomorrow, at noon.  They are coming to move my beloved Kawai from one room to another, and I can honestly say that I am greatly relieved that this is finally happening!  It's going to end up right back where it was about a year and a half ago:  in the living room, right in front of the big mirror, visible from the front door entrance, smack dab in the center of the house.  It's moving back to its original place, and something inside of me finds great comfort in that.  It's as if a loved one who has been away for a very long time, has now come back home to stay.

It seems like such a long time ago that I initially hired the movers to come, and at the time it seemed a logical change.  But, once I saw my piano set in place in the other room, stuck in the corner, I knew I had done the wrong thing.  Because the money had to be paid and the decision had been made, my brain, as well as my husband, told me to live with the situation for awhile.  "Oh, you'll get used to it," he said, "give it time".  Others said they liked it because now the den was a "music room", and it looked like a studio.  I thought maybe they were right, and I was too emotionally involved with a piece of furniture.

So, I "gave it time", but I never did get used to it.  Never.  It always felt wrong:  kind of like a shirt with a scratchy tag in its neck, or a coffee cup with a burr on the lip edge.  It just never felt right, and I had no one to blame but myself:  it was my own doing, a "doing" with regrets.

Here it is about eighteen months later, and I can boldly say that I am older and much wiser, and that I have done my time.  Guess you can say that I paid my penance.  It's time to set things straight, and get my life back in order.  Yes, I have to pay the movers, again... but, that's okay.  I consider it money well spent.  It's people like me who help people like them pay their bills.  And, it's people like them who help people like me get their lives back in order.  That's how it works, isn't it?  I help them:  they help me.  We need each other. 

Well, this is not your typical piano lesson, is it?  But, it is a lesson well learned.  There is no place like home sweet home, even for pianos.  My baby is coming back home, and when I pay for its ticket, I'm gonna' breathe a sigh of satisfaction and sweet content.  You know, sometimes, I am just a lot of trouble for myself, not to mention those around me.  Yes, I have just completed a circle, another circle in my life:  my piano, too.  The good news is that now, we both have each other where we belong, plus we both have a couple of new friends.

If you ever need good piano movers, call me.  Most likely I'll be sitting on the bench, in the living room, right in front of the big mirror, visible from the front door entrance, smack dab in the center of the house with a great, big smile on my face. 

Going in circles and wondering, "Why?",
Your friend...

Cindy Lou

p.s. Where it was...

Where it is now... after its journey.... home, sweet home!

@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 Iddy, Biddy Diddy

Ever feel like you're trying "too hard"?  Is this truly a possibility or is it just a scam people use as a tactic to get you to stop doing what you're doing?

If someone tells me I'm trying too hard, then it has to be "the scam".  Yea, it's a scam, alright.  However, if I decide that I really am trying too hard, like if I'm black & blue from hitting my head against a wall, then maybe it is time to back off... unless, of course, it is for my family, or for my loved ones, or my friends, or my so-so friends, or my list of people that make me crazy, or my hobbies, or my job, or my latest project, or my next project, or my "I should do this" list, or my "I have to do this" list, or, and by all means... my beloved bucket list.

Hmmm... guess that just about covers it.

No sense in beating my head against the wall to get this point across.  After all, I have to save my energy for daunting projects.  So, let me close with this delightful little, iddy, biddy diddy...

Passionate souls are stubborn souls.
Stubborn souls are hard to sway.
So, if ye be a soul like me,
pray "stubborn" goes away.

Ah, I feel better now.  Let the day begin!

Just call me:  your friend, your want-to-be friend, your so-so friend, or...
"She makes a' me crazy" friend,

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou


p.s. #1  I'm practicing for the Mean Old Lady Olympics.

p.s. #2  I hear they have a competition called Quick Wit.

p.s. #3  I'm sharpening my skills... uh, tongue.

p.s. #4  There is a scripture in Proverbs or somewhere in the Bible about not being stubborn.  I should look it up.

p.s. #5  Can't... I'm too stubborn.

p.s. #6  Yikes!  Feeling convicted.

I Samuel 15:23, Holy Bible, King James Version
"For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry..."

p.s. #7  Uh, oh...  

I John 1:9, Holy Bible, King James Version
"If we CONFESS OUR SINS, he is faithful and just to FORGIVE OUR SINS, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." 

p.s. #8  Sweet... Thank you, Jesus!


@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.

My Flag

Triumphant it stood.
Boldly it waved.
Courage and strength it told.
I watched it furl in jet streamed sky
and wondered how am I
so fortunate to sit beneath this flag,
on freedom's common ground.

What price was paid I cannot grasp,
can't fathom freedom's cost,
but as I view Old Glory's flight
I pray we shall:
not faint,
give hope to night,
turn wrong to right,
and be worthy of the name...
America...
America...
America.

                  --Cindy Lou Hodges


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

Fire, Fire... Hair on Fire!

It was the month of December in a quiet neighborhood in central Texas.  It was your typical Sunday morning worship service in this Southern Baptist Church.  Traditional Christmas carols and festive decorations filled the room, but there was nothing typical about things when her hair caught on fire!  I guess you could say, "That's when all hell broke loose!"

I was the pianist, and she, Miss M, was the keyboardist.  We were just about four feet apart from each other.  What separated us was a short banister wall, about "hip high", and of course, the votive candles were lit for the morning's service.  All was well, and the congregation seemed to be singing better than usual.  They actually were in tune with our choir, and our minister of music was giving it his all as he lead the joyful sounds of praise and worship.  Our pastor was deep in thought, or prayer, or something, but by the look on his face one could tell that he, too, was enjoying the service.  It was a packed house and joy filled the sanctuary.  Everyone was in their proper place, and as they say, there was peace in the valley.

Then, it happened.  We were in the middle of one of our favorite Christmas carols:  congregation singing, piano playing, keyboard roaring.  And then, she leaned forward with her head tilted down somewhat... ka-whooooosh!  The top of her hair caught on fire! 

Out of my peripheral vision I saw this instant flash of bright, white light.  There seemed to be some very pale yellow, kind of lemon yellow, and a very delicate shade of lavender mixed with some blue in it, too.  I thought it was very pretty, until I realized what it really was!  "Oh, my gosh... it's a fire!  Dear, God... her hair's on fire!!!" 

Now, you have to understand, that at this exact time in space, everything was in slow motion:  very, very slow motion... even though we're talking about just a matter of seconds.  As my fingers kept playing the Christmas call to worship, my eyes saw three or four deacons rushing towards the piano and keyboard.  They looked like linebackers from a football team, but they had this horrid look of fear on their faces.  They seemed to do some sort of shuffle run, then they would halfway halt, then start moving forward again.  It was a strange sight, I tell you.  Frightening, too, because they were running straight towards us...  Miss M and me. 

I don't know what finally clicked in my mind, but thank goodness it did.  I jumped up and started hitting Miss M on the head, patting out the fire.  Wisps of singed hair floated all around us, kind of like tiny dark feathers sifting through the air.  It was as if we were on film, and that the film's shutter speed was slowly clicking from frame to frame.., or in this case, from "flame to flame".  The very distinguishable odor of singed hair overpowered everything:  the scented cinnamon spice candles, the holiday fragrance of the evergreens, and even my gently applied Channel #5.

It all happened unbelievably fast, and then, in a flash, it was over.  Done.  Gone.  Fire out.  Oh, the candles kept burning, and the congregation kept singing. Well, mostly.  The singing did sort of die down, but I'm not sure the folks on the back rows ever knew why or that a ruckus had occurred right there on Sunday morning, in their peaceful little church. 

Our minister of music recounts that everything in that service was going great until he looked over and saw his pianist beating the keyboardist on the head.  Guess he missed the vision of the flames, but he sure as heck saw his two musicians decking it out with each other, and that's what he remembers to this day!

As for the deacons, the men that rushed to the front, they weren't needed after all.  My speed and position allowed me to take care of the "situation", and so, they fumbled back to their pews, shaking their heads wondering what on earth had happened. 

Musically, the song survived.  Only a few measures were without accompaniment, and once the flames were smothered, I went back to the piano bench and started playing again.  Miraculously my hands were not burned.  Miraculously, Miss M was not injured.  Her pride was somewhat assaulted, and her hair needed a few weeks to recover, but she had no burns whatsoever, and what could have been a catastrophe became a miracle and a marvelous, unforgettable memory.

I have to tell you, that this was a highlight of my career.  I have played for church services off and on for decades now, and many stories can be told.  But, this one is tops.  Whoever said being a church pianist is boring, has never sat where I sit, and they have never seen things from my perspective.  I love what I do, and it is never, ever boring... at least not for this gal, and certainly not here in Texas!  I truly consider it a privilege, and I count it all joy to be a "bench warmer".  And just for the record, the Christmas season is definitely my favorite time of the year!

So, here I sit.  I'm watching and waiting for more miracles...  pardon the pun, but they do warm the heart!

Joyfully serving... and, joyfully playing,
this church pianist,

Cindy Lou


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

The Daydream

I was so involved with my daydream that I missed my mouth with my coffee cup.  Surprising?  Not at all.

The imagery was spectacular, and the band was in the grove, uh groove.  There I stood with the microphone, not one ounce of fear piercing through my body.  All eyes were glued to this magical moment:  all ears tuned to the soft nuances that would soon flow from my soul.  No one knew this was the moment I had longed for.  No one knew the expense of this adventure.  No one knew.  No one cared.  No one, but I.

Spotlight intact.  Curtain up.  Applause filled the air with the echo of triumph.  Taking in one last breath, I opened my mouth to sing, and right there, in the middle of my daydream... was the sound of fire alarms and clanging bells!  Uh... no:  it was the telephone.  The audacious, stupid phone was screeching right in the middle of my once in a lifetime "moment".

So, there went the coffee all down my shirt.  There went the daydream:  there went the diva.  I felt like Ralphie, the little kid in the movie, The Christmas Story.  Spectacular were his daydreams that spinned with unbridled enthusiasm!  They out shined the grandest of schemes, and in this world of doubt, they kept his fragile, creative spirit alive.  No one knew about his secret scenarios.  No one knew about them at all, and no one cared.  Or, so he thought.

I guess, inside all of us dwells either a diva or a Ralphie, and somewhere along the way we picked up the notion that the child in us should grow up and throw aside our childish ways replacing them with grown-up thoughts and grown-up behavior.   (Oh, that's in the Bible.  Isn't it?  It's in I Corinthians 13:11.)  That's what is required of us as responsible adults, but I can see a meltdown coming if the child within is forgotten and never released to play, to create, or to daydream.

I don't know about you, but I am planning on longevity here in my life.  My long awaited first grandchild will soon be born, and I want to be around to see her coo & giggle, to see her take her first tiny steps, and to see her twist and turn as she masters her first pair of high heel shoes.  I would love to be around for her wedding day as she lovingly takes those solemn steps of marriage.  And when I arrive at those later stages of my life, I don't want to be a dried-up, old prude who doesn't know how to laugh, or sing, play, or daydream.  I want to be young at heart, and laugh at the days ahead... the days present. 

That sounds like quite a challenge, because aging can be terribly cruel.  Injuries and insults assault us, and time marches on without our permission.   As my Aunt Polly used to say, and now my mother says, "Aging ain't for sissies!"  Yes, I have to agree, it isn't.  Neither is daydreaming.  It takes a lot of courage for grown-ups to dream like a child, and even more courage, I think, to admit that we do.

They say that confession is good for the soul, so here you have it:  I confess.   I daydreamed, and it didn't cost me anything other than the time to wash my coffee-stained blouse.  That was just a few, well spent minutes, and I think that little snippet of time added new wonderment to my child-like faith.

What about you?  Have you daydreamed lately?  It isn't painful, and the child in you just might thank you for the freedom.  Dance, sing, build bridges, climb mountain cliffs, paint like Rembrandt, design fashions, write a best-seller novel, discover a cure for cancer, find a forgotten city, go to the zoo, go watch a baseball game, or imagine your flower beds a botanical wonder.  Be creative... there are no limitations when we daydream, and without our permission, no one can take our dreams away from us.

Because they are precious, we must protect our dreams, and we are instructed to guard them continually.  They can be a gift or a burden, so we are to use them wisely.  We should even pray about them, asking God what they should be and asking God to direct our thoughts and take them where He wants us to be.   Can't say that I remembered to do that before my "diva dream", but I should have.  For I have found that heavenly daydreams are the sweetest of all and the longest lasting.

Take heart, my friends.  There is hope for all of us!  With my grown up knowledge and my child-like faith, I face the future; and you can face it with me.  We may be fortunate enough to daydream a brighter future, and we may even be fortunate enough to find ourselves basking in the spotlight as we stand in front of cheering crowds.  Or, we may find ourselves flat on our backs facing the frightening sounds of emergency sirens.  No one can accurately predict what awaits us, but I do know that we don't have to face those times alone.  There is Someone who cares.... Someone who knows.  And, I would like to know Him better.

Think I'll grab my Bible, turn off the telephone, and ask God to fill me with His love and even more child-like faith.  It can happen, you know... and that doesn't have to be a daydream!

Blessings to you as you rediscover the child within you.  Guard it.  Protect it.  Nurture it.  And, then, give it a friend by the name of Jesus.

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou



"For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he..."
--Proverbs 23:7  King James Version, Holy Bible

"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."
--Luke 18:17, New International Version, Holy Bible

"...there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."
--Proverbs 18:24, New International Version, Holy Bible



@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

Scrambled Eggs

Which shall it be?

"Life is too short for fussing and fighting, my friends."
OR...
"Never go to bed mad.  Stay up and fight!"

Guess it depends on the situation, but I see that most arguments revolve around proving who is right and who is wrong.  We all want to be right.  We want to be the smart one, the superior one, the winner;  but, most of the time, the winning comes at great expense.  Why can't we accept that there is more than one way to do a task, and more than one way to view the situation?  It's all a matter of perspective.

I speak from experience.   Being married to an engineer, and myself being an artist... I know for a fact there is more than one way to get the job done.  For instance:  breakfast eggs.  He likes his fried, squashed, squished and hard as a rock with crispy, crinkled, bacon greased brown edges.  I like mine scrambled with butter, ever so soft, light and fluffy.  It's just eggs, but two distinctly different ideas of how to cook them:  two different preferences, two different perspectives.

Two different people living together:  successfully!  Yes, in this household now, around the cook top, there is peace.  He has his bacon grease and spatula, and I have my butter with olive oil.  'Tis so amicable here.  'Tis so sweet.  And then, out of the blue, holding it high in the air, I hear myself say, "step aside, dear... I have the skillet, and I know how to use it!"

Hungry, grumpy,
and not feeling very patient this morning,

Cindy Lou

p.s.  Even the sweetest rose has its thorns!  (chuckle!)