Monday Morning's Rascal

Strange noise outside my breakfast room window this morning:  It was up to me to solve the unsolved mystery.  No one else even knew the possible danger that lurked between me and the two thin sheets of plate glass.  Everyone else in the house still slumbered and dreamed of yesterday's chicken enchiladas smothered with thick, smooth sour cream sauce.

With coffee pot in hand I inched towards the window, following the sounds.  It could be a cat.  Creatures like that do prowl my deck:  those, as well as opossums.  It could be a rat, but with the noise so loud, the rat would have to be inside.  Negative... don't even think that.  I'd rather it be a person out on the deck instead of a rat inside.

Backing up, I decided maybe I better finish making my coffee and get the glass pot out of my hand.  I just might drop it if startled, and common sense told me a cup of coffee might help me decipher just what was going on.  Besides, if it were a burglar... maybe he would GO AWAY, and I wouldn't have to subdue him.  Anyway, I'd hate to have to deal with the police before I put on my make-up.  They might arrest me for something similar to indecency.

Scratchy noise?  Not really.  Rustling noise?  Well, sort of.  It would sound off, then stop, as if waiting for a response.  I was not the one to answer, for I was the investigator.  Listening and looking were my tasks, and I took my job seriously.  The safety of my household depended upon me, and I, a solitary woman demanded an answer!

With nothing in hand, for the coffee was slow to drip, I armed myself with hands on hips and inched forward to the window.  Fear pulsed through my veins:  courage through my arteries.  I wasn't prepared for what I saw.  For there was nothing to see, but a robin.  I backed off and waited.  Surely the intruder would strike again, and I would catch it in the act.  Patience was my game, and I, Superwoman, would outlast the culprit and, save the day.

"There it is, again!", I whispered to myself.  "What is it?"  With steady eyes and ears attuned, I caught it in the act and witnessed first hand its trespassing deed.  It thrashed about giving its all to its mind-boggling purpose.  Determination defied the odds, and common sense it had not.  It unleashed its flurry as feathers flew, and my window clouded over with feathered dust.  That pitiful little robin kept bopping into my window, and my heightened senses felt sorry for the creature, but sorrier for myself since I had just cleaned that window two days earlier, and had waited a year to do so!

By gosh, and by darn... here I had revved up my super powers to conquer the world, at least the enemy outside, and now the enemy was no bigger than yesterday's lunch.  Super powers were not necessary at all:  just wasted energy.

With something very special muttered by my mouth, my hands flew up to shoo away the rascal.  As he flew away, my "uncaffeined" brain can't confirm what I saw, but with wings outstretched and a glint in its eye, I'd swear that that pesky little robin, that pretty little orange-breasted creature gave me a wave and a good bye sign...  one seen out on the highways and byways of life.  I'm not sure which one of us felt more stupid:  the bird that gave me "the bird"... or me.

Alas... what a way to to start a new day.  Guess even Super Women make enemies...

Looking for the Windex,
Cindy Lou

I told my husband about the robin and its strange behaviour. He said that he's familiar with the bird's activity of flying into the glass. It seems to happen only in the morning, and he suspects that the robin sees his reflection in the window and considers it a threat. Therefore, the sign language I saw was not meant for me, but rather for the other bird!

Gotta' love it!!!

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

"Tic-Toc..."

Tic-toc
goes the clock:
Tic, tic, tic, tic, tic, tic, toc.
Tic-toc
goes the clock:
tic, tic, tic, tic, toc.

Rock to the clock,
- as the clock
tic, tic, tic, tic, tic,
Tic-tocs.
Tic-toc,
Tic, tic, toc.
Tic-toc goes the clock.

Just a little rhyme I chant to my grandbaby:  over and over, and over.  She loves it, and of course, so do I.  She stares into space, the one up at the ceiling, and whatever she sees captivates her attention.  I stare at her, the little one in my arms, and what I see captivates me. 

Tic-toc
tic, tic, toc.
Tic-toc
goes... the....... clock.

Family clock, 5th generation

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Heart Attack! Chapter 3...

Chapter Three - The Blue Room

Blue.  Everything in the room seemed blue:  the wall color, the color of the light bulbs, the chairs, the nurses outfits, my husband's hospital gown, even the dirty linen hamper.  "That's good.  Blue is his favorite color.  It's a calming color.  Hope it works."  If the color had soothed him, I couldn't tell.  He seemed agitated and... well, verbal!  Richard was verbal, very, very much so.  What HAD they done to him???

His tone of voice was different.  By that I mean that he didn't sound gentle and calm, his normal demeanor. He was rather hostile!  This man whom I had been with for nearly forty years, and had seen angry only once in my life, now had an attitude that was shaking the walls!  Hostility and irritability were behind his every statement:  not at all like my easy going Richard.  The nurses refused to let it bother them. They just kept on working and let it roll off their backs... their navy blue backs.

Ahh, but he was alive:  changed, maybe... but alive!  He did welcome me, and let me kiss him.  His cheek felt warm and damp.  My tears blended with his whiskers, and our words of love spoken to each other softened the attitude in his room.  The blue lights didn't seem so cold now.   Hugging him was awkward:  too many hoses, tubes, and wires, but I did manage to do a head snuggle with him, and the earthy fragrance of my man confirmed that I was "home":  another journey behind me.

The nurses updated me and answered my questions, but no one could make me understand why Richard had not told me or our son about his chest pain.  No one could explain why he drove himself to the hospital rather than call 911 for assistance, and no one could explain why he insisted to keep me uninformed about his admittance into the hospital... no one, and no one understood the anger and hurt that welled up inside me.  It wasn't about me, or it should not have been, but I felt like a dagger had been jabbed into my heart.  There we were, the two of us:  both with wounded hearts, but only one of us was being treated.

"Looks like you dodged the bullet this time," nodded his cardiologist.  "You are a very fortunate man. Two weeks of nothing but taking it easy.  Come to  my office in four weeks for your echo cardiogram and follow-up appointment, and in the meantime we'll get you started on the cardio rehab program here at the hospital.  Take your meds and adjust your diet:  beef just once a week and lower your sodium intake.  Stay away from the fast food restaurants.  If you have any any chest pains, take one nitroglycerin tablet.  If after five minutes you still have chest pains, take another nitroglycerin pill.  Then if your chest pain continues, call 911."  I elbowed, uh, poked, Richard.  "If you have any other problems whatsoever, call me."

Well, we made it through our hospital stay, and Richard did simmer down, eventually.  Me, too... it just has taken me longer.  It is now six weeks since the attack, and we are much older, and we are wiser.  The past is behind us, but always with us.  The future is a big question mark, and the present is here, but only for a moment.  So, while I have the opportunity, I thank God that Richard is still with us, and that he is as healthy as he is.  I thank God for the medical personnel that took care of him and saved his life, and I thank God for the friends & family that helped us make it through this frightening time.   They say to pick yourself up and keep going, but this was one time where neither one of us was able to do it on our own.  Praise be to God for His provision and for keeping us safe, and me... sane.

Well, I guess that is debatable.  Like I told Richard, my wonderful, stubborn, hard-headed, hard to understand martian, who I love dearly... "I'm gonna' get you well, and then for not telling me you were sick... I'm gonna' kill you !!!!!"  Yes, survived another crisis... now older, fatter (I'm a stress eater.), and just worn-out, but considering painting something blue.  They say it has a calming effect.

So, here I sit writing my story.  The rest of the time I'm sincerely trying to be a good wife and nurse.  Neither one is easy, but I'm grateful to have the chance to try.

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou

Typical heart attack symptoms:

Chest discomfort or pain

Upper body pain

Stomach pain

Shortness of breath

Anxiety

Lightheadedness

Sweating

Nausea and vomiting

Heart attack symptoms vary widely.  For instance, you may have only minor chest pain while someone else has excruciating pain.

One thing applies to everyone, though:  If you suspect you’re having a heart attack, call for emergency medical help immediately!  Don’t waste time trying to diagnose heart attack symptoms yourself.

Additional heart attack symptoms in women:

Women may have all, none, many or a few of the typical heart attack symptoms.  For women, the most common heart attack symptom is still some type of pain, pressure or discomfort in the chest.  But women are more likely than are men to also have heart attack symptoms without chest pain, such as:

Neck, jaw, shoulder, upper back or abdominal discomfort

Shortness of breath

Nausea or vomiting

Abdominal pain or “heartburn”

Sweating

Lightheadedness or dizziness

Unusual or unexplained fatigue

For more information follow this link:
http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/heart-attack/DS00094/DSECTION=symptoms

@Copyright 2010, 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.

"Stuck"

Where I sit today is a very cozy place to be.  I'm warm.  I'm safe.  I'm not being forced to labor, nor am I being forced to act like someone I'm not.  As a matter of thought, what force there is around me is one that comes from within, not from external sources.  When it's just me, I'm not sure that's a good thing.

My internal drive seems to be in "park" and rather "stuck" in the same place that it's been for awhile.  I feel like an old car that can't make it up the hill and my owner crammed scotch blocks behind my wheels to keep me from rolling backwards, careening down into some deep, dark crevice.  I can't get up enough steam to go forward, but I have dug in my heels so that I won't go backwards.  I am determined to not go there.

So, it's either "here, to stay" or "move forward" or "move sideways".  Sounds like some kind of dance, doesn't it?  Yes, come to think of it, that is exactly what it is.  It's life's dance, and I can sit it out, or I can join the party.

But, where I sit today is a very cozy place.  I'm warm.  I'm safe.  I have much to be thankful for, much to do, yet this twinge of unhappiness and dissatisfaction weigh me down like lead in my dancing shoes.  Like I said, when it's just me, I'm not sure that's a good thing.

Guess we all have days like this, especially when for several days the sun has hidden behind the clouds.  Guess we can't always be who we want to be.  Guess that's normal.  The fact is:  I need a friend today, and maybe, just maybe... that friend will ask me to dance, and together we'll make it up that hill.

Waiting for the sun to shine; believing it will,
Just a little blue for right now...
Cindy Lou

"Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to you.  Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up."  ...Holy Bible, James 4: 8, 10

"Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need."  ...Holy Bible, Hebrews 4:16

p.s.  I'm gonna' need these...

@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.

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.