Theresa

I've been saying for years that my next phone would be an iPhone. I've done just fine with a basic phone, and actually, how much I knew I'd love an iPhone, was one of the reasons I held off getting one. I needed another addiction/distraction/access to e-mail/Facebook/etc. like I needed a hole in my head.

But. A girl only turns 50 once, and it's hardly fair that STM has one and I don't, and so, I told him that's what I wanted for my big birthday (on top of the trip to Hawaii - 50 has made me greedy). I marched myself into Verizon the second they opened on Tuesday of last week, got a great gal that set me all up, and 41 minutes later walked up with my synced up, contacts-ready 4S. I didn't want the 5, but I did want Siri. You see, I do not have a poor sense of direction, I have no sense of direction. Plus, I had heard Siri could do anything, and I wanted to put her to work.

Because Wil loves to touch my phone and change it all around, switching my ring tones, silencing it when I most need to hear it, screwing around with my contacts, etc., I had to lay down some ground rules. "Wil, you may NOT touch my new iPhone. Ever. In turn, I will not touch Paddy (his iPad). Ever. I will simply never lay another hand on it, but you have to promise not to ever lay a hand on my new phone, which I will allow you to name."

"Theresa," he announced.

"Wonderful, Teresa she is. Deal?"

He agreed, and so far, has kept his hands off Teresa. He did make me turn off the locking and keyboard  clicks, as those drove him crazy, and I'm liking the silence myself.

I forgot to get a little lesson on how to use Siri, and when I got home, discovered I hadn't a clue. I knew it had to be SUPER simple, but still, couldn't figure it out. So, I Facebooked one of Wil's former peer assistants that is now in college and works part-time for Apple. He walked me right through it (and as you all must know, it was beyond simple). Then he gave me a few extra little 4S tips and sent me his cell number so I could text him any time with future urgent matters.

Then, even after my walk-through, I couldn't make Siri work. No matter how many times I pushed that Home button, we just weren't communicating. Here's the shocker, and the moral of the story (and all stories): I was making it harder than it needed to be.

So. I've already learned a valuable life lesson, and Theresa isn't even a week old. Can't wait to see what I learn from her next.

The Fun Part

Turns out, selling and distributing THE BOOK is a whole lot more fun than writing it! I'm having a ball signing my name like I'm "somebody," putting it in mailers, dropping it off on porches, and even taking a few to Wil's favorite yogurt shop for them to sell. How about that? It's going to be available at our church's Parish Center, too! A dream come true!

In fact, maybe the biggest dream to come true of all, is the overwhelmingly loving response from the "holy elders" in our church. I hoped, I prayed, and then I worried, while writing the book. I wanted my bumpy and reluctant journey to Catholicism to be respectful to those "cradle Catholics" I knew would read it. I hoped, at the bare minimum, they would be "ok" with it. To have them stop me on the street, send me notes in the mail, drop by the house and tell me how much they were moved by it, then wanting to buy more for all their friends, has been an amazing blessing.

I had one woman bring me a Mani stone with Om Mani Padme Hung written on it. She wrote a note saying she's been a Catholic for 76 years, but keeps a bodhisattva garden. She wanted to give this to me for mine. I cried on the spot.

I had a woman, 89-years-old that I've known all my life, and has known my mother almost all of her life, write me the most incredible letter about what the book meant to her. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect that response.

Thank you to all of you that have bought/downloaded the book! Thank you to those that have left incredible Amazon reviews. Thank you to those that have invited me to their book clubs. Thank you to all of you for being my faithful readers and supporters these last seven years!!

Love.

P.S. Portlanders - my book is available at Wallace Books, too!

Not Getting Older...

Wil and I are in the kitchen after dinner. He's playing iHeartRadio on his iPad, and has it on the oldies channel. Song after song comes up and he asks, "Do you know this one?" I answer yes to James Taylor, Elton John and Smokey Robinson.

"How do you know all these songs?" he asks.

"Because they're old songs, and I'm old," I answer.

"You're not that old," he says,"you're only 50. Actually, you're only 49."

"Well, you're right, but that's getting up there," I say.

"Do you want to stay at 49, or are you ready to move up?" he asks.

I decide I'm ready to move up. I'm not ready to get old, but I'm definitely ready to move up.

Aloha!

We've had a great trip! We are at that point where you're about to leave, you're packing up, checking the room for things you forgot to put in your suitcase (razor, shampoo you brought from home), it's not quite time to check out, but there's really not enough time to do anything else, and you're already missing the place you are at the moment.

We've loved our time on Kauai - it's changed in the 21 years since we were last here, but not that much. We wanted quiet and rural, and that's what we got. We came during the rainy season and got nothing but one gorgeous sunny, 75 degree day after another. It was never warm enough in the room to need the air conditioner, and we loved sleeping with the sliding glass door wide open, listening to the ocean all night.

We watched the sunsets.

We went for a power walk each morning.

We spent hours looking at this view from our balcony.

And being good Catholics, we even went to Mass at St. Raphael's, the oldest Catholic church on Kauai. STM noticed the windows, how the circles depict the Last Supper. We had a great time trying to figure out who were the locals, and who were the tourists.

But most of our days were spent right here. In our favorite lounge chairs, with our 50 SPF sun block, hats, glasses, and shirts. Despite our efforts to be in the sun and not get burned, we did. But not too badly. When you're white-as-ghosts-Portlanders, what can you expect?

We're not ready but ready to come back. It's been just the right length of time, always go home wishing you could stay one more day, that's what I say.

Tomorrow we'll be back to the real world, which, after having a week to step back from and reflect upon, is pretty darn good.

We are blessed and grateful. Mahalo!

Top 10 Ways Mothers and Fathers Go Out of Town Differently

(Note: This may not be true in all households, it's grossly generalized, but it's certainly true in most of the ones I know of!)

10. Weeks, possibly months before the trip, Mom will arrange child care

 9.  A good two weeks before the trip Mom will start making notes for said child care provider

 8.  Mom will add to the notes to such a point that they will cover the fronts and backs of five 8 1/2 x 11 pieces of paper

 7. Mom will grocery shop and stock up on all the things one could possibly ever consider eating while she's out-of-town

 6. Mom will load up the frozen yogurt and Burgerville gift cards, and leave a huge wad of cash so that every possibly spending concern is covered

 5. Mom will order an additional insurance card so one may be left behind - just in case

 4. Mom will type emergency numbers, lists of foods toxic to dogs, and notes to all the teachers informing them of the schedule

 3. Mom will pull out the suitcase and start packing days ahead of time, then wash all the clothes in the laundry room so that everything is available for packing, and wearing by child/ren left behind

 2. Mom will clean, clean, clean then clean the house some more. Plants will be watered, beds will be changed, lights that haven't been dusted in years will be dusted. Slip covers will be washed, so will the throw rugs. New flowers will be planted in the window box. The house will look just so. Mom will nearly kill herself in the endeavor, but sleep well at night.

 1. The night before the big trip Dad will say, "Do you know where we keep the suitcases?" "Are you planning to do any laundry, because I have a bunch of things I need to take with me." "What should I read on the plane?"

Toes

Don't hate me because I bored you for years and years a long time about THE BOOK, and that's not likely to change anytime soon. Hate me because on Monday, I will have my toes in the water, *&^ in the sand, not a worry in the world, cold beer in my hand!

STM and I head to Hawaii to celebrate my 50th birthday - definitely one of the upsides to it all! It's not that I think 50 is old, or that I'm freaking out about it, it's just that 40 seemed like yesterday, 30 not that long ago, vividly remember my 25th. The thing about 50 is you realize it's not that long until 60, 70, 75. Again, nothing wrong with it, but it's just weird to think about.

You'll be happy to know that I have my retirement community all picked out. It's a tad premature to put down a deposit, but let's just say the thought has crossed my mind. I'm a planner. That's both one of my biggest strengths, and definitely a weakness when it's over-used.

But come Monday, my biggest planning will involve which of the four books I'm bringing to start first, whether or not I want fries with that burger or a salad (fries), and if it's too early to start drinking (no).

Aloha!

When the Boulder Moves Itself

Not enough can be made of how fun this part of the writing process is - the not writing part! I was a nervous wreck before the book came out and my friends and family can attest to the fact that I was no fun to be around. FULL of self-doubt, fear, anxiety, apprehension, your basic low-level emotions. Now is the fun part - the part where the people that already love me are reading it and telling me they love me. Only time will tell if the book will ever reach circles beyond my immediate circles.

What I'm particularly loving is having people tell me the parts in the book that struck them the most. For many women, it's the summer I spent in Sisters alone. As one woman said, "There isn't a woman in our age range that didn't, or doesn't, need a summer away." She then went to talk about a particular part of the book where I was in Sisters and commenting on the actual mountain range. I remember when and where I wrote that section, it's burned in my memory. The thing is, I didn't actually write it, as much as type it. I remember reading what my fingers had just typed and thinking, damn, that's good!

Likewise, when I wrote the blog post about my twenty-first anniversary, I got a lot of feedback from my community. One woman even went so far as to say that was the best thing she'd ever read about marriage. Again. Only the typist. I felt the urge to write, sat down and started typing. It was effortless. It was only a matter of opening the computer and letting the words find their way to the page. LOVE when that happens. It doesn't happen often, for every time it does happen, there are dozens of days when I just plod along.

I guess that's how it is with anything: most days you just show up and shove the boulder up the hill, but every once and awhile the stars align and the boulder moves with only the gentlest of touches, sometimes only a whisper, or a wink will get it to go. And those are the days you hang on to with hope, while you continue to wake up each day, plant your feet firmly on the ground, and start to push.



* Photo from www.truceinc.com

Hot Off the Press

Here's the photo that started it all. I took this in 1999, Wil was 2 1/2 at the time. I wanted to capture the image of him taking off down our street, always with Big Bird under his arm. It wasn't until I got the picture developed that I saw the sidewalks formed a cross. Somehow this picture confirmed for me at the time, what I'd suspected for awhile: Wil is divine. He's simply not of this world. Years later we had his chart done by an astrologer, and lo and behold, it forms a cardinal cross.

Fast forward fourteen years and this picture is the cover image for the print version of THE BOOK. The book that  went through a million drafts, transformed, transformed, then transformed some more, the one that about made me swear off writing all together, the one that I'm happy to say, is doing well so far!

Thank you SO much to all of you whom have read it or are reading it! Really, THANK YOU!!! Two of you have even given it a review on Amazon, again, thanks! If any of you are so inclined, it would be great to get more up there, here's the link for your reviewing convenience!

I've heard from a fourteen-year-old boy (so not my intended audience), former and current teachers of Wil's, family members, neighbors, friends, and the owner of Wil's favorite frozen yogurt shop. My cup runneth over.

Virginia

1932 - 2013

My dear friend, Ruth, lost her sweet mother, Virginia a week ago. Virginia and her husband of nearly 60 years, Larry, had eight children - six girls and two boy, 21 grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren. A more loving family you simply will never meet. It's impossible. No wonder I was drawn to them 36 years ago, and can't stay away.

Our friend, Megan, and I drove down to Springfield yesterday for the funeral, the reception, then the after-party at Larry and Virginia's home of 53 years. We laughed, we cried, we looked at old pictures, we told stories, we ate, and ate and ate, then we drove home in the dark and the cold and the fog and all the rest, warmed from the inside out.

Soon as we got back to the house Ruth offered me a glass of wine, and told me the story of the H3 (hard to see, but that's what the label says on the bottle she's holding). She said they'd all been drinking that wine all week while they planned the funeral, but there was no real significance to it, someone just brought it and they were drinking it. Or so they thought.

Then Ruth said her youngest sister, Teresa (on the right) had noticed that if you broke apart the "H" in H3, it was really 1-13, which was the day Virginia died. Cue woo-woo music. It gets better. Virginia was cremated, and her remains will be in the mausoleum at her church, temporarily. Larry wants her to be there with him when he goes to church each Sunday morning (just like he has done every Sunday morning in that church for nearly 60 years). After he passes, Virginia will be moved, and they'll be laid to rest together.

It came to the part in the service where the eight children, their husbands and wives, 21 grandchildren and 5 great-grandchildren all walked over to the mausoleum, and placed her remains. Her spot in the mausoleum? Do you really even need to ask? H 3.

Here's a picture of Larry with three of his biological daughters, and just some of his many adopted ones.

Larry was telling Ruth and me how much he loved Virginia, and how he told her when she was in a coma, but he wasn't sure she heard him. Ruth joked, "Well, you never said it before then, did you?" 

"Every night," he said, "every night before we went to bed, I'd give her a kiss and tell her I loved her."

He had told Ruth earlier that he used to pray God would take him first, because he couldn't bear to live without her, but after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, he told God to take her first, he needed to be around to take care of her.

"God answered my prayer, Ruth," he said.

We take a teeny tiny break from talking about THE BOOK, to bring you a post on Hopeful Parents. Enjoy the break, it won't last long!

BTW, thank you to all who have already ordered/downloaded THE BOOK, I so appreciate it! See? I told you the break wouldn't last long!

Love.

Ta Da!

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for! My book, WIL OF GOD: Embracing the Relentless Love of a Special Child, is out! It's going to be hard to stop calling him Rojo on this blog, but the jig is up, his name is Wil. And his story, my story, our story, is now all in one place.

It's available on Amazon, both in print and Kindle form. It's available for your Nook, KoboBooks and iBooks has it for your iPad. In fact, every e-reader known to man has it, so really, there isn't a reason in the world for you not to read it! Some places want just the title, some want the title and subtitle, but all places will get you where you want to go (which is with this book in your hands) by searching under my full name.

The book is a spiritual memoir, it tells the story of Wil, while also telling the story of my own journey towards embracing his gifts. Loyal readers of this blog will recognize some bits of the book, but there is a lot to our story you don't know. Now you will.

Promise you'll read the book. Don't forget. Promise you won't forget.

Love.


(If you live in the Portland area and are interested in me joining your book group for a discussion, please contact me at: carriewilsonlink@gmail.com)

M O'N

You all know and love my friend, Michelle O'Neil, right? Well, I just can't get enough of her, in fact, I just listened to this interview with her and Betsy Hicks. I highly recommend it for so many reasons. Michelle is deep. Michelle is well-educated. Michelle is smart. Michelle is funny. Michelle is spiritual. You'll get a good hit of all that in the interview!

I met Michelle 7 years ago, it was love at first sight (at least for me). We've journeyed together through writing, autism, parenting, you-name-it. Do yourself a favor and listen to the interview, read her blog, and buy her book, which is, of course, incredible!

Operation Veggie

Sorry, I've been so crazed and obsessed distracted with THE BOOK, I've neglected to update you on Project Veggie! Well, here's the good news, your prayers are working, thank you! Rojo has a good attitude and is trying them, so far the only "winner" is baby carrots. We are really supposed to be loading up on the leafy green vegetables, but the crunchy orange ones are going to have to do for the moment. It's progress. What's wrong with progress, I ask you?

We are doing much better in the fruit department, and are successfully getting him to have a bowl with 12 pieces at breakfast and dinner. He's going to keep increasing that number by 2's until we get to 20. So far he's had watermelon, strawberries, blueberries and pineapple. Pineapple is by far his fave and if I'm not careful, it will be all he'll be willing to eat in the name of healthy. The boy can take something and glom onto it like nobody's business. Flicka is a huge fruit and veggie lover, so she goes nuts every time I pull out the knife. (Like seriously, she runs from upstairs to downstairs when I so much as open the knife drawer.)

Clear your calendars for Thursday, I just know you'll want to be spending the whole day downloading/reading/ordering THE BOOK.

Thank you for your love, support and prayers on all fronts! I appreciate and feel them!

Love.

Motherless Daughters

Won't you watch this incredible video my friend, Hope Edelman, put together? Her work with motherless daughters is tireless and profound!

Love.

Well On Her Way

You guys haven't heard about THE BOOK in a few days, so let me set about correcting that!!! When I wrote THE BOOK, I deliberately made Woohoo and STM "shadow characters," people who are essential to the story, but are not really in it, you know? I did this for a number of reasons, their privacy, respect for them having their own version of "my" story, and with memoir, you have to decide what the story is, and tell that. In my case, THE BOOK is about my spiritual evolution that Rojo forced upon me and has held my feet to the fire with ever since.

I love both my children equally, but what they require from me is anything but equal, thus, the relationship between the two is very different. That's been hard for Woohoo over the years, understandably. She has toyed with the idea of becoming a therapist for special needs siblings. She'd be great, and I think the niche is big and only going to get bigger. It's true that it takes one to know one, and she would be so helpful to so many.

Woohoo is still home from college, she goes back on Saturday after four weeks of being back in the nest. I think that having gone away and returned after four months, she sees us all with different, more mature, older and wiser eyes. Yesterday she was hanging out with Rojo and me while we did what we do: talk about the flavors of frozen yogurt, which kind of fruit to put in our refrigerated water next, and various other super important things. "You guys are like BFFs," she said, without the slightest trace of jealousy, resentment, anger, or sadness. Only awareness and acceptance.


* Photo from http://www.acceptingevangelicals.org

Sing It!

Sunday evening, after 16 straight days together, Rojo wanted to have one last "concert" for me. He loves to play the piano, and I love to be somewhere else when he does. He's never had a lesson, but has a great ear. He can play the right hand really well, but the left hand just bangs out (loudly, and with the pedal) the bass clef. Quite frankly, it's enough to rattle your teeth and nearly deafen your ears. I'd had one too many concerts over the "vacation," but I agreed to it anyway, as saying no was sure to be harder than saying yes.

"Care," he said, while opening the kitchen drawer and getting a Post-It, "I'm going to write down four songs for my concert, and then you tell me which one comes next."

He positioned himself at the piano and I called out, "#1, 'Holy Mackroll.'"

He played something that sounded an awful lot like "Jingle Bells."

Then I said, "#2, 'Jesus and Mary.'"

He proceeded to play to the tune of "Frere Jacques," while singing, "Jesus and Mary, Jesus and Mary, Where are you? Where are you? In our hearts and souls, in our hearts and souls. A-amen. A-amen!"

I loved "Jesus and Mary" so much, I'm afraid I can't even remember much about "Blessed is the Man," or "God Has Come."

Making Peace

“There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he 

does not know till he takes up a pen to write.” 

 --  William Makepeace Thackeray, novelist (1811-1863)

My agent has this quote in her "signature," and each time I get an e-mail from her, I read it and think, so true. At least for me, writing is how I figure out what I think, what I want, what I believe, what I'm moving towards and what I no longer want to be a part of. It's how I sort myself out. It's how I tap in. It's how I know myself. And I didn't understand this until tonight when I read her latest e-mail and saw that the author's middle name was Makepeace, that indeed, that is what writing does for me: it helps me make peace.

I imagine it's the same for artists, musicians, probably athletes and anyone else doing what they love, whatever that may be. Making peace. Can enough be made of finding the time to do what it is that helps us make that peace within ourselves?

The Lull Before the Launch

My friend, liz, emailed today to tell me she was tired of reading about my 21-er, and to get on it with a new posting. You'll read all about liz when you read my BOOK, which will be available January 17th, which, as you well know, is just 2 short weeks away!

Let me tell you, friends, enjoy the lull before I talk more about the book, the book, and more about the book! Truly, there is very little on my mind besides it, oh, that and the fact that I'm the world's worst mother - more on that in a minute.

If you want to test your own endurance, write a book.

If you want to drive yourself crazy over and over and over again, write a book.

If you want to mine your life, write not just a book, but a memoir.

If you want be kind, write, then edit, then edit some more, said memoir.

If you want to know who your true friends are, write a book.

If you want to know where you were, where you are, and where you (think) you're going, write a memoir.

If you want to eat, sleep, breath nothing else for years on end, but then only end up with a 233 page document, write a book.

If you want to go from excitement to dread, from hope to apprehension, in a rapid and repetitive cycle, launch the book.

I could go on, but I think you get it. You get it, right?

Now, about that world's worst mother thing. Here's the deal. As I have gone through the BOOK over and over again, I've been struck, mostly, with what a perfect mother I am for Rojo. NOT the perfect mother, to be sure, but the perfect mother for HIM. Yet, my Achilles heal is the fact that he eats so poorly. "Poorly" being an understatement. Toast, bacon, pizza, taco meat, hamburgers, Goldfish, frozen yogurt and junk food. That pretty much says it all. Try as I might, he outplays, outwits, outlasts me. He is the survivor in the game of eating.

Took him to the naturopath today. Haven't taken him there in over 2 years. Got tired of paying $100 a pop, out-of-pocket to be told he needs to eat better. Because it had been so long since we checked in, we went, and I took all his supplements/meds/vitamins with us for her to review. Turns out, he's been taking a prescribed multi-vitamin the pediatrician has prescribed (with fluoride), plus the one she prescribed, thus over-dosing him on certain vitamins. And not for a time or two, but for nearly 3 years. She's worried about damage to the kidneys and liver. She's worried about a variety of things. Plus, she basically gave me the you've-got-to-pick-your-battles-and-this-one-is-one-of-them speeches. Of course I know all that, but if you lived in this house, I dare say, you'd have a helluva time getting Rojo to eat better, too.

At one point Rojo said, "Well, I'm a really picker eater."

The naturopath said, "You're old enough for me to say this to, that's a load of crap."

Some of that must have sunk in, because Rojo did say on the ride home, "I'll eat a vegetable in 2 weeks."

I'm going to gear up and really give it the ol' college try to get him to eat better. She suggested (urged) me to withhold frozen yogurt if he doesn't eat his green veggies. I told him I didn't eat enough of those myself, and we'd do it together. So, dear readers, you have two things to look forward to hearing about ad infinitum, the BOOK, and Project Veggie.

21-er

December 31, 1991

STM and I went out to dinner on Friday to celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary. Such is fitting for two middle-agers, we were home by 7:00, in bed by 9:00. That is not to say that we didn't have a wonderful time. We hoisted our wine glasses, looked into each other's tired eyes and STM said, "We've hung in, hung in, and hung in, and we still love each other."

It's fair to say we love each other more than we did when we got married, certainly more than when we thought we were first in love. And it hasn't all been "hanging in," there have been a lot of laughs along the way. Nobody can make me belly laugh like that one.

I can't, and won't even try to write the book on love. Married love, above all, is so complicated. (Parental love is simple.) There is no magic formula, it must work for the two parties involved and that is all - what is good for the goose, may not be good for the gander. There are double standards, silent agreements, spoken arrangements, and times when going to the mat is the only choice left. There are times when saying nothing is a sin, and when it's the greatest kindness you can offer the other. There are situations when retreating is the thing to do, and when being a dog with a bone is the saving factor. There is no road map and no key to the kingdom. It's trial and error, it's gut-it-out, it's savor the good and overlook the bad, it's for better for worse, it's forgive and forget, it's a spiritual covenant, it's a karmic relationship, it's a sacred contract.

I don't think all sacred contracts are meant to last a lifetime - some relationships, marriages, friendships, do what they were supposed to do - take us to where they were supposed to take us, teach us what they were supposed to teach us, then they expire. I do believe that my contract with STM is multi-lifetime, and that we came together in this lifetime, for very specific purposes (not the least of which was to have Woohoo and Rojo), and we have many more ahead.

At the end of January we will return to where this picture was taken - Kauai, 21-years later. We will celebrate my 50th birthday, and the people we are today, look back at the "kids" we were then, and look forward to what we will become. Together.

Thank You

I woke up with the day-after-Christmas blues, one day late. Yesterday we kept busy, STM and Woohoo went back to work (she has a 3-week gig), Rojo and I went to yogurt with Kathleen and exchanged our Christmas presents with her. Then Rojo, my mom and I went over to visit my cousin and two of her kids that are visiting from Chicago, that was fun, and kept the festive feeling alive.

Today the it's-all-over-but-I-am-not-ready-to-put-it-all-away feeling crept in. I need to go to the grocery store. And the bank. And the drug store. And get gas. I need to do a lot of things that have been put off until "after Christmas," and the list overwhelms me, so I decided the thing to do was make an eggnog latte and sit down and write thank you notes. If I've learned anything, it's that nothing chases the blues away like a big dose of gratitude.

I gave Rojo personalized notecards for Christmas, and he was game to start using them today. He even embellished them slightly, veering from his standard, "Thank you, love, Rojo." As I sat down with my stack, lighted candle, pretty music and yummy drink, a feeling of deep thankfulness swelled up and washed away the blahs. The gifts themselves are lovely, and I appreciate them, but more than that, I appreciate the givers. I appreciate the thought that went into them. I appreciate, in four cases, that unexpected people gave me unexpected gifts that were right up my alley - and with no expectation of being given a gift in return.

And isn't that what a gift is? A gift? Not half of an equation, not part of an arrangement, not an obligation, not blind obedience to tradition, just simply an act of love?

12/21/12

Years ago when I heard about the Mayan calendar ending on 12/21/12, I went into a panic that rippled for quite some time. As we got closer and closer to the year, I got more and more worked up. Then a funny thing happened, as we turned our 2012 calendars to December and the 21st was just one more day before Christmas, one more day to get stuff done in a hurry, the last day Rojo had school, a day with things to do, people to see and places to go, it lost the feeling of being a day of any significance, and became just another day.

Then I spoke to my friend Val, and we decided it should NOT be just another day, it must be a day "marked by grounding and gratitude." We both feel that 2012 does, indeed, mark the end of an era, and that is a good thing. We feel the tides are turning and the winds of change are blowing. We might be wrong, but at least we'll be optimistic, hopeful, grateful and grounded while being wrong.

Val and are getting together for a couple hours today to meditate, share, hold each other's intentions for 2013, and do whatever the Spirit moves us to do. We'll each have Our Lady of Guadalupe candles, special books, and I'm even bringing my Enlightenment Cards.

And we will pray the prayer, that I think is the perfect prayer:

Open our eyes to see beauty,
Open our ears to hear truth,
Open our mouths to speak kindness,
Open our minds to seek wisdom,
And open our hearts to love.

Light One Candle

Optimism is a strategy for making a better future. Because unless you believe that the future can be better, you are unlikely to step up and take responsibility for making it so.

(From gratefulness.org)

I am still too shaken up by the back-to-back shootings last week to write with any eloquence. As we approach the darkest day of the year, and with that, the turning back towards the light, let us light our candles with hope and optimism. Don't let the light go out, don't let the light go out, don't let the let go out!

Today is Hopeful Parents day - please click on over! Love.

Our Lady of Guadalupe Day

Our Lady of Guadalupe day was wonderful on Wednesday, just what I need (what we all needed) after Tuesday's terrible tragedy. I was only able to attend the last half of the day because my hairdresser was only able to see me that morning, or not at all in December, and that was simply not an option. You understand. Just a little something I like to call priorities.

So, because I missed the morning, I had to do my homework ahead of time, and do what the other women were going to spend their morning doing.  I was to make a SoulCollage card, answering this question:

"What is Guadalupe asking you to bring into being, now, in this time of transformation?"

For those of you unfamiliar with SoulCollage, it's just that - you design a collage, by listening to what your soul is trying to tell you. You are really supposed to use just images, not words, but I'll be darned if what popped out from my soul was not words, words, and more words! I got the message loud and clear, what I'm called to bring into being is as "little" as possible. I think there's something big for me around the corner, but first, a time of stillness, at least inner, if not outer. See the one that says, "The O List"? I took that to mean the zero list. No list at all. Just typing that sends me into a panic. Where would I be without my lists? I hear tell of people that get themselves through a day without them! Hard to imagine!

At twelve noon we sat in a circle with our red Guadalupe candles aglow, and prayed together while listening to "She Who Hears the Cries of the World," from the CD, She Carries Me. I had to wipe my eyes several times, so emotional and beautiful to be in a sacred circle, very different women with one common prayer: peace.

I was with the sacred group for two and a half hours. The whole world may not have been transformed, but at least a part of me was.

Tragedy

By now you've probably heard about the terrible tragedy in Oregon, where a gunman opened fire at the mall. That is the same exact mall where Rojo and I were just 24-hours (almost to the minute) before. The people in line to see Santa fled, Santa ducked and covered, two people died, one person was seriously injured, then the man killed himself.

I don't even know what to do with all this. I, who never watch the news, watched for three hours straight yesterday, staring in disbelief at what I knew to be true, listening to the same information over and over and over, hoping it would somehow change.

Rojo had big plans for us after school - I was to pick up Nancy on the way to get him, then the three of us would get yogurt at the Clackamas Promenade, then go to Costco because we were totally out of Tree Top fruit snacks, and that was the biggest problem in our lives at the time. Nancy and I got Rojo at 3:30 sharp, and five minutes later his whole school went into lockdown. Can you imagine Rojo in lockdown?

As we drove the short distance to the mall, we saw police car after police car, sirens blazing, but we couldn't quite tell where they were going, only that they were coming from all directions. By the time we got to yogurt we'd seen at least 20, and more were on their way. As Rojo started in on his second bowl of yogurt, a man ran into the place and said, "What's going on at the mall?" The workers there said, "There's a gunman in Macy's. 60 shots have been fired." (That number turned out to be exaggerated, but that was the number that everyone was hearing at the time.) It was surreal. Nancy, Rojo, me, the only customers, two trapped employees and some guy off the street, gathering our information and plan, suddenly thrown together by fate.

We told Rojo we would have to go to Costco another day - we wanted to get home and off the streets, we wanted to get in front of the news. Rojo protested briefly, but quickly saw that we weren't kidding. I think even he was shaken up a bit, although he argued to the contrary, continuing to blather on about minutiae, as we watched from across the street, the number of ambulances and police cars continue to increase their presence at the mall.

I know of one friend and neighbor who had just been to a movie with her elderly mother. Because her mother needed to use the bathroom before going home, they went out a different exit. Had her mother been ready to leave when the movie was over, they would have walked straight out into the food court where the shots were being fired.

Another neighbor and classmate of Rojo's was at the food court at the time, she and her friends abandoned all their things and ran out of the building. They are shaken up, but fine.

A friend of Woohoo's works at the mall. She had to hide in the building until the All Clear was called.

Terrifying.

Horrific.

Lots of stories coming out about all the good will and cooperation that was shown, too. People helping each other. Store employees getting their customers in safely and then locking the gates. The elderly being helped to find safety, one man carried a pregnant woman while her husband picked up their toddler and ran.

Today is 12/12/12, the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Never have we needed her more.

Mary, pray for us sinners, now, and in the hour of our death.

Amen.

Follow Up

I know you're hardly able to carry on with your Christmas preparations, what with all the nail-biter cliff-hangers I've left you with, therefore, I'll fill you in on what you've missed.

Let's start with my role as the Eucharistic Minister, shall we? Let's just say I was incredibly nervous. I'd studied, read and re-read my list of instructions, and went through the process in my head multiple (like OCD) times. I asked to do the cup because I was way too nervous to try to do the bread, and give non-bread takers a blessing. It may take me months to work up to that one. When it was over, and I polished off the rest of the wine that was in my cup (per instructions), I put it down, bowed before the Tabernacle with the other servers, and sat down with waves of relief. Then, I didn't give it another thought (other than, phew!).

Mass was almost over, we were singing the song of sending forth, and the woman sitting in front of me turns around and says, "Aren't you supposed to be up there?" I'd totally forgotten that I needed to recess with the other servers, the priest, the deacon, and all the other VIPs, such as myself. I was mortified, but able to nearly sprint up there, do a quick bow just as I heard the cantor (Rojo's DD caseworker) say, "Verse one again." I'd taken so long to get up there, they'd run out of music. Everyone was waiting for me. Like, nightmare time, when the whole crowd is watching you screw up and things move in slow motion. Truly, horrifyingly embarrassing.

I haven't quite recovered. But here's the thing. We always sit in the same spot, way in the back on the right. This time, before church, Rojo had informed us we were sitting in a different place, behind two of his faves. If we hadn't sat there, I wouldn't have had the woman sitting in front of me that told me to get up there. No accidents. Still, it's a scene I keep replaying in my head, and no amount of STM telling me nobody noticed, will erase the moment of horror.

On a brighter note, the visit to Santa was as easy and pain-free as such a thing can be. We bolted to the mall after school, got in line behind about four other families. They were all so engrossed in grooming their (small) children and selecting photo packages, they didn't pay us much attention at all. The "elf" did look at us a little strangely, but I shut her down and informed her we were "just visiting," and were not going to be purchasing a photo, let alone a whole set of them. I told Rojo he didn't have to sit on Santa's lap, he could just go up to him and talk.

Rojo had spent the whole car ride, walk through the mall and standing in line time, debating on what to ask for. I thought we'd had that settled, he'd told STM he wanted pineapple licorice. Then he changed his mind to Thera-putty, then as we were walking through the mall and I pointed out the store where we were going next for jeans, he said, "Maybe I'll just ask for jeans."

So, that is how my 16-year-old stood near Santa, pointed to his jeans and told him he'd like a new pair, only longer, as he'd grown since the last time he'd seen him. "That couldn't have gone any better," he said when we were done. A few minutes later he said, "I don't think he recognized me."

"No, he may not have," I said, "but that's because you've changed so much since last year."

But really, he has only changed on the outside, inside he's still the sweet, innocent, thoughtful, grateful, easy-to-please boy, we all know and love.

Making God Laugh

So, you know what they say about making God laugh? Tell her your plans? Yea. A little like that. Rojo's plan to e-mail Santa didn't stick. He started back up with STM to go see Home Depot Santa. STM's sense of urgency and mine aren't quite the same, and by the time he did some checking, we learned that Home Depot wasn't going to have Santa appear this year. Again I tried with the e-mail idea, and again, it didn't stick. "We will just go to the mall and see Santa when we go to Bath and Body Works to get hand sanitizer," he told me, killing both of my ideas with one stone.

And so, friends, that's how it came to be that today after school, I will be standing in line with the babies and toddlers, and there will be even more of them, because we are going even later in the season that we would have if I had known this was the way it was all going down, and had any say in the matter.

Not only are we seeing Santa, and not only are we looking/shopping for MORE hand sanitizer, we are also attempting to buy him new jeans, and get a couple things I have been putting off getting at the mall, AND eating at the food court.

Pray for me.

12/12/12

Our friend Tom sent me the latest Mary-in-a-tree picture. We never noticed her before. We think she's making herself particularly apparent now, what with the Feast of the Immaculate Conception today (12/8), and next week's Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. You don't think it's an accident that this year, that is on 12/12/12? Who here doesn't believe there is POWER on that day, like no other, for the much-needed feminine divine? Bring it, Mary!

I'm just super excited. I'll be spending the day with 11 other women. At 12 noon we'll pray together. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing that day, won't you join us at 12:00 PST? I personally feel the future of this world hangs in the balance. Let's tip that mother!

Kissing My Own Ass

Rojo has an expression, "I'm kicking my own ass!" when he's killing himself, or otherwise driving himself crazy. Kathleen and I have taken it and run, but today I decided to give it a twist, because, basically, I am kissing my own ass, so pleased with myself, I simply must share.

First, I decided this year I simply could not, as in could. not. take Rojo to see Santa. For those of you that think it's cute and sweet that he still wants to go, I beg you to stand in line at the mall with the babies and toddlers, and your 5'10" 16-year-old, and tell me it's cute. It's not cute. It's brutal. Plus, Rojo had kind of opened the door to me not taking him when he said, "Would it break your heart if you didn't take me to see Santa this year? Would it be okay if Dad and I went to the one at Home Depot?"

I knew that STM's Santa-ability was even less than my zero ability, but I decided to make that Rojo's problem. "No, it would not break my heart. Work it out with Dad."

I asked a couple more times if he and Dad had a plan worked out, and Rojo would always say, "He's thinking about it." I knew that the longer it took to get the message to Santa, the more stress I'd be under trying to find whatever weird and random thing he pulled out of his butt to ask for, so I started getting panicky.

"You know, you don't always have to ask for something, you can just say to Santa, 'Surprise me!'"

Yesterday he was digging all over for "flavored" hand sanitizer, another of his obsessions. I had a stroke of brilliance. "Rojo! Why don't you ask Santa for flavored hand sanitizer for Christmas! He can bring you all kinds! AND, you don't even have to tell him in person, you can e-mail him! He just needs to know what you want, he doesn't have to actually see you."

"Do you just e-mail him at Santa.com?" he asked.

"Yes!" I said, having no idea if that were true.

I scurried to my BFF Google shortly after and found out that yes, you can e-mail ol' St. Nick.

Rojo's happy. Care is happy. STM is happy. Santa's happy. His clean, well-sanitized hands will be happy!

Then, the second big awesome accomplishment of mine, right on the heels of this one, was the Christmas card. Let's just say there were some bumps along the way, and in a frenzy I ordered a bunch without really counting how many I truly needed. When I printed out the labels I realized I'd ordered quite a few too many, and they weren't cheap (but I am). Here's the part where I get awesome: I made a list of people that weren't on the list, but should be. That was fun! They were, for the most part, people that are angels in Rojo's life, who aren't necessarily friends of the whole family, but they are his friends, therefore, ours. You know what I mean.

Ho, ho, ho!


* Photo from www.antiochchamber.org

Contagious Personality

Rojo came home from school today with this list. Apparently his health class did some activity, where all the kids passed paper around, and the rest of the class wrote down what they liked about everyone. I'm having a bit of a hard time piecing it all together, as Rojo said, "I have no idea," when I asked him what the list was about. It was only after asking him if he wrote down things on other people's lists, that I got a few more details.

I love the list. I agree with the list. My favorite on the list, I think, is "contagious personality." I would have to agree that he's contagious.

His dear friend since kindergarten is in this class. It's the only mainstream class Rojo has (and he has a 1:1 student assistant). I love that Rojo and his buddy are together one period a day. I love that they try to crack each other up in there to make the day more fun for each other. I love that the friend wrote, "best buds 4ever."

Really.

Not enough can be made of that.

Contagious. What can I say?

Answering the Call

I recently went through a training to become a Eucharistic Minister - one that serves communion. It's something I've wanted to do for a long, long time. The winter schedule came out, and guess what? I am scheduled to serve communion for the very first time, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception - December 8th. That is the day that celebrates Mary's (as opposed to Jesus') immaculate conception, a woman free from "sin." Whether or not you buy all that, you've got to agree that Mary was someone that said, "YES!" to her calling, her purpose, her soul's journey.

Maybe it's the fact that I am nearly 50, but I have been spending a lot of time lately, thinking about just that. Am I saying, "yes," to my life? To what I'm called to do? My reason for being here? I know a woman that has had one impressive, and diverse, profession/calling after another, and she already knows what her next one will be. It, too, is exciting, and I couldn't agree more that she'd be perfect for it. Me? Not so much. When I was a teacher, I was a good one, but no part of me wants to do that again.  When I'm honest with myself, I've never really aspired to be "more" than a wife and a mother. Staying home and taking care of my family and home, has been my dream, and my reality. You don't get much more blessed than when that's the case.

I take comfort in the fact that Mary was not flashy in her time, she did one big thing in a quiet way - she mothered. She took care of a special boy so that he could do what he was called to do.


*Photo from stlouisreview.com

Blunders and Absurdities

From Gratefulness.org

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense. Ralph Waldo Emerson

No Scarcity of Happiness

Rojo had a great day today. First of all, a friend of his needed a ride to school, and he needed it early. The earlier the better in Rojo's book, so he threw open the door at 6:40 AM and eagerly greeted his guest. He gobbled down his breakfast, happy to have a new audience member. (5 pieces of bacon, two pieces of toast with both garlic salt AND cinnamon sugar, a few rainbow-colored Goldfish, and a couple pineapple-flavored licorice. Just like at your house, right?)

By 6:50 we were out the door and headed to a Peer Mentor meeting, in which Rojo informed me he was "hosting," thus the need to be there at 7:00, and not at 7:15 when the meeting was technically scheduled to start.

On the way, in the car, he tells his friend, "This is such a great day, you need a ride, I am hosting Peer Mentors, we are going to play Christmas charades, and there is pizza for lunch! Ahhh... the happiness of the day never ends!"

As if that weren't enough, Nancy and I picked him up from school, took him for yogurt, AND to Costco so he could shop. I'm not even a member of Costco, but Rojo has developed "needs," so we drag poor Nancy there, too, in addition to all the other places we drag her. He told Nancy, "When I get to Costco we are going to look for pineapple-flavored licorice. Kate (at his usual yogurt shop) gave me some to take home yesterday, but I want to buy a big bag. We will find them at Costco."

Nancy told Rojo in all her many trips to Costco, she's only seen flavored--licorice once, and it was a special event, with its own portable display, etc. Rojo assured her there would be no problem. Entering Costo he instructed her to head for the candy section, despite her warnings that they didn't have it there, and if they'd have it at all, they'd have to go to a different part of the store. Not discouraged, he walked her straight to what? Oh, yea, pineapple-flavored licorice.

We are two 1.5 lb. bags of pineapple-flavored licorice richer.

The happiness of the day never ends.

Proofed

Okay, so I gave my proof to a friend that I didn't even know (but should have guessed) was a good proof reader, I actually gave her the book for a whole different reason (to pre-read it before it launches, so when we have our big party, she can bail me out when I get all tongue-tied talking about it, if you must know). But, alas, she is not only a GOOD proof reader, she is, the best. She found things in the manuscript that the umpteen people before her have failed to find. "Little" words totally omitted (to, of, etc.) Words that had an "s" but didn't need one, words that didn't have an "s" at the end, and did need one. Misplaced quotation marks, commas where periods should be, spacing errors, wrong word choices, a "who" that should have been a "whom," and vice-versa. 70% of the dog-eared pages are because there was some weird inconsistency with the quotation marks, as in, the actual mark. It shows up looking two different ways, with no rhyme nor reason. We think it's because of cutting and pasting, and I was using a Mac, and my editor was using a PC, and the two got their wires crossed.

Anyway. I have spent the better part of two days making each and every correction, LORD, HEAR MY PRAYER! If not, so be it. It's as good as I can get it. If you read it and find something wrong, I beg you, do not tell me. Do not even insinuate!

I am finally able to find some humor in all of it, and to see that this was not a waste of time, or exercise in futility. I learned a lot about myself, things I wanted and needed to know, and things I didn't want to know. Last night I was watching one of Oprah's "Super Soul Sunday" shows I'd recorded, it had Jean Houston on it, and she was talking about "The Wizard of Oz," and how we all have our tornadoes, things that pick us up, twist us around, and we have to go crawling back to where we think we want to go, which we had within us all the time. ("You're always wearing your ruby slippers.") I would say this book-writing process has been a tornado for me. One could easily say I ended up right where I began, and that would be true, but the journey has been life-changing.

Waiting

Where to start? Let's start with the fact that Mercury goes direct today, and this particular turn in retrograde kicked my *&% like none other. Small things, like two different people trying to text me, and instead, texting STM. Weirdly, neither had his number in their contacts, and obviously were not intending to text him. So why did he get them? Then how about me trying to print address labels for Christmas cards, and the printer printing only the top half of each page? EACH page! But the biggest show of Mercury's strength came in the form of my printed proof of my book. A small disaster, to say the least. One million (slight exaggeration, really more like a thousand) typos, omissions and just outright errors. The book has been proofed, edited, proofed, edited, proofed, edited, over and over and over again. I almost didn't even proof it this "last" time, but "fortunately," did.

I honestly don't know what the Universe is trying to tell me about the book, but one thing seems to be clear: slow down. I was all about getting it out in 2012. I was all about getting it out before I turn 50. I was, let's just be honest here, ALL ABOUT GETTING IT OUT. PERIOD. I feel like I've been pregnant with this "baby" for years and years and am so sick of waddling around with it, I just want it OUT.

Apparently, its gestational time is not yet up.

And I'm forced to ask myself the bigger question, is this a brick to the head? Is it simply, not meant to be "out?" As my cousin pointed out, it was important to write, but maybe it's not important to publish. I puff up my ego thinking the book will be of benefit to others, but really? And at what cost?

And so I sit with the question while I go ahead and tediously correct the errors in the Word doc., before deciding if I really want to upload it one more time and have it out. Maybe, being pregnant was and is the point. Maybe, birth is not.

Blog About It

Rojo's fetish for "flavored" hand soap continues. After church yesterday we bee lined for Bi-Mart to carefully peruse and make our selections. Technically, we were there shopping for the St. Vincent de Paul drive coming up, where they are asking for toiletries. As I picked out toothpaste, toothbrushes, shampoo, etc., Rojo weighed his hand soap options very carefully.

Finally, after about 20 minutes of this, I asked if he needed help. He wanted me to unscrew the lids off a few so he could "taste." I grabbed one, obliging, "Oh, my God," he exclaimed, "that smells like a toilet!" Then he laughed at his own joke so hard he nearly wet his pants.

All the way home in the car he repeated his joke, "Care! That soap smelled like a TOILET!!!" sending himself into gales of laughter again and again. Shortly after that we picked Kathleen up to go to yogurt. Right away he told her his "toilet joke." "Care, you gotta blog about that, promise me you'll blog about it, don't forget to blog about the soap smelling like a toilet!

This morning, up at 5:45, he was after me immediately. "Care, did you blog about the soap smelling like a toilet, yet? You gotta blog about the soap smelling like a toilet! You gotta tell Kathleen and Nancy they need to get blogs, and they both need to blog about the soap smelling like a toilet."

Because he is standing over my shoulder now and won't get dressed for school until I blog about the soap smelling like a toilet, I am.

Not a mark on him!

Please join me at Hopeful Parents today. Thanks!

I See How This is Going to Go Down

As everyone knows that reads my blog (thank you!), my dad has spent the last 16 years taking things from our home and putting them back later (sometimes after many months). As a child he'd have me go in search of something, and inevitably, I'd come up short. "Carrie, you're not bad looking, but you're a bad looker," he'd say. I'm convinced that his teasing from the other side is to remind me that he's there, and that I'm still a bad looker - what I need is right in front of me, I just can't see it.

STM's dad could fix anything, anything at all, but we were forever taking broken lamps to him, and other electrical things. Since he died we've had a slew of things break or go out: the doorbell, six light bulbs (6!) and three smoke alarm batteries (3!). You can't tell me that's an accident. He's on the other side now, too, but right there. Apparently we need frequent reminders.

Today, as I replaced the batteries and bulbs, I was able to offer up a prayer of gratitude that our loved ones never leave us, they just transform.

The Best Medicine

Not a lot to laugh about over here lately, although, my mother-in-law and I were able to have a few giggles sitting in the hospital day after day, reminiscing. There's nothing like the death of a loved one to help you pull your head out of your *&% and have crystal clear (however temporary) insight into what really matters, and what, simply, doesn't.

I got my Christmas present early this year, and it was a biggie. I've had an varicose vein that I wanted removed, but it was "asymptomatic." I guess the psychological distress it caused me was not a "symptom." Anyway, because it wasn't causing horrible pain, we got to pay out-of-pocket, I told STM it could be my Christmas present, 50th birthday present, on and on and on. Just get that thing off my leg. Finally, on Wednesday, I got this sucker fished out. You don't even want to know more than that. Trust me.

By the way - see the cute pajama bottoms on my "good leg?" Those came to me from my friend, Amy, all wrapped in a Victoria's Secret box, complete with darling top, shortly after my blog post depicting the state of my sleepwear. Note to self: picture more things on blog, in a state of disrepair.

The day after my minimally invasive surgery, I had lunch with my friend liz, and her daughter, Andrea, aka, A Farmer in the Dell. Super fun with lots of laughs (and of course, yummy food.) Then, for dinner, I went out with three friends I met over 20 years ago. We used to all teach together, before I had Woohoo. We've been doing birthdays, Christmas and just-because dinners ever since. This time the occasion was Marti's recent marriage. For years we've been pushing Marti to marry her long-time boyfriend, whom we all adore (and so does she). Not sure if it was because we threatened offered to be bridesmaids, or what, but Marti up and got married by a justice of the peace without so much as how do you do.

Naturally, we took the proper actions. She had denied us the opportunity to be bridesmaids, but she wasn't going to deny us the opportunity to dress up and have some laughs.

A special thanks to my sister-in-law for providing three of the perfect dresses for the occasion. A special thanks to everyone that makes me laugh. A special thanks to all my good friends.

Love.

A Love Story

I don't know about you, but it's a good thing this election is today, because I don't think I could survive one more day. So much hate. So much negativity. So much division. Please vote your heart today, then let us join hands and move forward.

Let me tell you a little love story. This is what 60 years of a happy marriage looks like. These two went on their very first date in 1950. A Halloween party. A blind date, I believe. A year-and-a-half later they married. The day they brought their first child home from the hospital, Don lost his job. The day they moved into their brand new home that they had just built, with their now three-year-old daughter and one-year-old son, Don lost his replacement job. The only two times he was ever unemployed, couldn't have come at a better time, in his mind. Time opened up for him to be with his new family. Time to paint the house and help Doreen get it all situated. Time to be useful and helpful and all-hands-on-deck for his family. Money was tight, but his family was tighter. Family always came first.

The next several decades brought all kinds of changes to the world, but very few to them. Simple was the name of the game. The never did "get all carried away." Each Sunday Don would read the obituaries, and scroll through the long list of accomplishments. "I don't understand how they had any time left for the family doing all those things." He was not impressed. He never felt less than. He always felt grateful that his family was happy and healthy and had what they needed: love.

Last Monday Don lay in bed with Hospice care. Doreen came to sit beside him and tell him the story of their lives together. She started with their first date, 62 years ago to the day, and worked her way through the highlights since. Moments later he died.

I've never known a more successful man.

I don't believe I ever will.