Seeing Red

Sometimes the smallest gift is really a spontaneous gesture filled with so much kindness that it makes your heart overflow with gratitude. This picture is one such gift.

My oldest friend's husband snapped this picture on his phone as he left the church after my mother's funeral.  He was struck by the unusual reds that danced across in the sky, and the fact that my mother had asked all of her family to wear red to the service in celebration of her life.

The cold November day we buried our mom, I watched the stunning sunset unfold from the church pew-- at times filling the entire sky in varying shades of red-- as I listened to the minister speak of our clothing choices.

Now, on the rare occasion the skies blaze the same beautiful reds I saw that day, I take it, in all it's glory, as a nudge from our mother to stay strong and be happy.

My friends recently shared this photo with me, not quite sure how I would receive it.  My eyes opened wide the moment I saw it because I knew instantly when it had been taken... at the very end of the service, just before the sunset faded away.

Truly, it's one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given.

I Used To Love Rummage Sales

It was a gigantic fund-raising Rummage Sale like so many others I'd been to...

But it wasn't.  

It was 7 very large rooms of a community center and all the hallways jammed pack with other people's donated "stuff" for sale.

But it wasn't.

It was all meteciously organized and sorted by category so you could easily search out exactly what you were looking for.

But it wasn't.

It was every second-hand shopper's dream sale.

But it wasn't.  Not at all.

Back home recently for a fast weekend of visiting family before the snow flies in Northeast Ohio, my sisters and I stopped by the much anticipated Community Rummage Sale we'd been attending annually for at least 20 years.  This is the mother of all Rummage Sales with more treasures and surprise purchases than any other.  Furniture, kitchenware, linens, pictures, crafts, glassware, you name it...  Truly-- everything you could think of and then some.  We love this sale.

But not this year.

The Rummage Sale is the brainchild of the residents at the senior living community my mom lived in before she passed away nearly 11 months ago.  The "merchandise" is mostly donated by residents when they are downsizing to move into new houses or apartments on the senior campus.

It's generally all the stuff that new residents either can't fit into their new home, stuff their family members don't want or need, or items they simply no longer desire.  It's all donated for a good cause and everyone feels really good about passing their belongings on because the funds raised go to help seniors in need.

But it's not.

And by "not" I mean it's not just stuff donated when new residents are downsizing to move into the senior living community.  It's also all the stuff donated by families when their loved ones pass away.  A realization that we, when attending the Rummage Sale all these years, choose not to think about.

As I said, this was a much anticipated event for my sisters and I so, without hesitation, we piled into Baby Sister's giant SUV and headed to the sale hoping to find small crystal bowls, mason jars and votive candle holders to be used at my niece's wedding this coming Spring.

When we walked into the front door we were immediately greeted by my mother's former next door neighbor.  She really misses mom and we had a lovely conversation together albeit with a lump in our throats.

Then, even though we'd braced ourselves for the possibility of running into more of Mom's other friends, we stepped into the first room to shop-- kitchenware.

But we shouldn't have.

On a table, four steps inside the door, were my mother's kitchen placemats for sale-- The ones I'd made her a million years ago and she insisted were "just fine" for her new home even though they didn't match anything but she used them everyday because I'd made them for her. 

I could literally hear my sisters' intake of breath simultaneously followed by zippered purses opening to reach for Kleenex.  Seeing our mother's donated things for sale never crossed out minds.

And there we stood silently, tears rolling down our faces-- all of us touching the placemats that I now held in my arms like a child holding a favorite teddy bear.  No words, just tears and the realization that our last moments of denial about mom's passing, and thinking the past 11 months had all been a bad dream that we would magically wake-up from, faded with our tears on the fabric of the mates.

Apparently we stood frozen at the "placemat table" for a long time because a nearly 85 year old resident volunteer wearing a name tag and apron gently nudged us along because we were holding up other shoppers.

As we snaked our way through the many tables of sale items, we spotted more of the "stuff" we'd donated when our mother passed away-- Her dish towels, the ones with the crocheted tops that she hung off her kitchen stove handle.  Then came the China tea pot without a lid that Mom always put the dandelions we'd pick for her as kids.

In the "Holiday Room" we immediately spotted the Halloween candle holders with the tiny mice glued on them and the wooden, brightly painted Easter flowers mom pulled out for display every year.

The next room was filled with tables loaded with glassware... and mom's juice glasses, butter dishes, and tea cups as well as several small crystal bowls, mason jars and votive candles.

We stopped by the "Elegant Elephants" room-- Which loosely translated means "the expensive but hideously ugly donated stuff they didn't know where else to put" and there we spotted Mom's over-sized glass angel dressed in a wonky pink and blue glittered gown and appearing to fly like Peter Pan.  I'm pretty sure mom would have called the angel an "Elephant" too but never revealed which family member gave it to her and always had it displayed in her living room.

From room to room we went, seeing residents who asked us if we were our mother's daughters because we look so much like her.  Staff members hugged us and told us with tears in their eyes how much they missed our Mom's positive attitude and sense of humor.

And we continued to "shop" room by room.

But we didn't.

"Shop" that is.  We were really just looking for our mother's things.

In the end, we bought all of our mother's "stuff" that we could find at the Rummage Sale... the stuff we brokenheartedly donated because we all had already brought so much of our mother's cherished possessions to our own home when she passed.

Mom's things at the Rummage Sale were just too hard to see left behind.  Silly, I know, but my sisters and I came home with a carload of our mother's possessions... that we paid for... because we couldn't bear to leave them, or her, behind at the Rummage Sale.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit: © Kellis - Fotolia.com

Already Four

I have a clear memory of blogging about my first great-niece, E, and how marvelous it was to have a smart phone to receive text messages and photos all through my niece's labor.  The idea of communicating with a woman in the delivery room was shocking and exciting.

In the end, a photo of this little peanut appeared on my blog...

 
It's hard to believe that in four short years I've grown unable to live without my iPhone and totally acknowledge how pathetic it is to admit that... and truly mean it.

And it's also hard to believe that my first great-niece, E, is now a whopping four years old!  I absolutely can't live without her either. 

For her 4th birthday dinner, as usual, our family held hands to say grace before the meal.  E insisted on saying the blessing and took her job very seriously.  After a moment of thought, she took a deep breath and said...  "Dear God...."

And then she proceed to recite the entire Pledge of Allegiance-- After which, we all said, "Amen."

Happy 4th Birthday E.  Make a wish and wish big!

 For more Sundays In My City stop by and say hello to Unknown Mami

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Waving Good-bye

It is with a very heavy heart that I say my beautiful mother passed away November 3rd.

Thirty-three days in the hospital was a very long time to keep her spirits up, but Mom’s grace was always in check even as her taste buds and tolerance for cream of wheat and red jello wained.  Despite the difficulties she faced during her surprising and brief illness, she almost always had a smile on her face and a kind word for the nurses and doctors-- if even if that "kind word" was a request for a hot fudge sundae.

After lengthy conversations with doctors, Mom made a very clear and thoughtful decision to stop treatment and all the poking, prodding and unsuccessful procedures repeatedly prescribed to her.  They weren’t working and she knew it.  Mom wanted to be back in her home, and her own bed, with her dog and cat curled up beside her.  She was not afraid of her decision to leave the hospital and placed herself completely in God’s hands.

These past several weeks have been heartbreaking, as you might imagine, but at the same time, my siblings and I, along with my 12 nieces and nephews, all had the same comforting and heart-felt knowledge about our mother, grandmother and great-grandmother.

We.  Were.  Loved.

And our mother took her job as a parent very seriously.

Mom supported and encouraged our interests, hobbies and studies attending every dance recital, horse show, school function, sporting event, party, ceremony, divorce, birth, Grandparent Day, concert, graduation, and community events we participated in-- And she was present and happy to do so.

She showed us through her friendships what it meant to be a friend, and she gave us the tools we needed to grow into responsible adults and parents.  She helped us raise our children and taught us through example to work hard for what we wanted.

Our mother also taught us the difference between right and wrong, and the importance of always telling the truth.  She insisted, for example, that we stand outside on the front porch, even during blizzards, so she could honestly tell a phone caller we didn’t want to speak with that “we weren’t in the house right now.”

Mom gave us confidence with the absolute knowledge that no matter where she lived, she would always have a “no-questions-asked” policy if we ever needed to come back home again--  With open arms she provided a bed or an extra seat at the dinner table for as long as we needed help.  She was our safe haven and always had our backs.

Our mother was always a woman of prayer and devout faith who taught us to worship the Lord in whatever way that worked best for us.  Regardless if we followed her exact path or not, mom prayed we had a relationship with God and she made no judgement of how we participated-- although sometimes not so subtly-- like during the 70s when she would answer the phone “Good Evening God loves you”-- a statement that was absolutely horrifying to us as teenagers.

Her funeral on a Sunday seemed fitting because it was Mom’s favorite day of the week. Starting with Church in the morning, always sitting in the same front pew on the right side-- a spot she told us she picked so us kids would have to behave ourselves during services-- and ending the day with her calling each of my siblings and me to “count noses” as she’d say, to make sure we were all okay, even if she’d seen or spoken to us countless times that week already.  It was our mom being our mom.

So tonight instead of hearing her voice to check in, the five of us will remember our mother and...

The incredible amount of butter she enjoyed consuming on a daily basis...

Her wearing layers of sweaters even in 90 degree weather...

The smile on her face when she ate ice cream...

And S’ agapaw -- a secret code for I love you.

We will remember how mom loved her 29 cent lectures from her mentor, protector, advisor and best friend-- her sister, and how she had a smile reserved just for her when she called her durdle-der...

And how she was the best mother-in-law ever...

Her "love 'em and hug 'em" parenting advice...

And “Flapping her wings” to help us fly home to her safely.

We’ll remember how dinners together as a family were very important to mom...

How there was always room at her table for one more...

And how she always ended Grace by saying “Make us mindful of our need for You, Lord, and our need for each other”.

We will remember how she would undress her newborn grandbabies to count their fingers and toes...

And how she blessed their foreheads when she saw them...

And how much she loved her extended family like they were her own.

With appreciation, we will remember how she kept her cool during heated teenage battles with “That’s okay, I love you enough for both of us”.

And we will remember mom’s endless wave-- Mom would stand in her driveway or front window and wave good-bye every single time we’d leave her home-- Waving with both arms until our cars were completely out of sight.

When mom passed in her home it was heart-breaking and beautiful all at the same time.  She made it very clear to us that she wanted it to be quiet so she could have her eyes wide open so as as not to miss any part of her journey-- And that’s how it was, with a peaceful smile on her face and a calmness we have never witness before, mom reached up to heaven on the wings of her deep, deep faith and gently graduated to heaven.

When the funeral director came to take mom away-- who also happened to be a lifelong friend, he gently wrapped her in a hug and placed her in his vehicle.  Our family instinctively followed him outside and all stood in her driveway.  Together, we waved, with both arms, one last time, until our mom was completely out of sight-- But she will be in our hearts forever.

Joanna

Fly

Four cross-country flights in five weeks--  Phew!  I'm tired, but even after all my years of flying, I learned a few things.

The "Friendly Skies" are pretty cold these days, especially if you pony up and pay extra for leg room in Coach Class seating, which, if I calculate right, is about $10 per inch!  But leg room on a nearly 5 hour flight makes a huge difference on my tired bones so I swiped my Visa for $69 (gulp!) and off I went.  Thing is, I thought I'd signed up for a ride on the Polar Express!

It seems the main Coach Class air conditioning unit is located directly over the "Priority Seats" making the premium pay passengers freezing cold compared to the cramped passengers towards the back who were boiling hot.  And I mean freezing-- even with a long sleeved tee shirt, a hoodie with the hood up and a cashmere shawl wrapped around my head and face.  It was C.O.L.D. and not fun.

One of my flights to Ohio left at 6:05AM-- a gawd awful hour, especially when you factor in getting up at 2:45AM so I could get to the airport in time and snake my way through the painfully slow security line.  I made it with 20 minutes to spare before boarding and would have traded my soul for a cup of hot tea and a bagel.  Unfortunately, airport food service doesn't open until at least 5:30AM, with many not opening until 6AM.  Translation:  No tea for me.

Another flight was extremely turbulent, as in the flight attendants were strapped into their seats for a full 2 hours!  But apparently violently bouncing around at 30,000 feet doesn't bother some people.  Fourteen passengers had to be told to SIT DOWN!  And these folks weren't even up to use the restroom.  Nope, these idiots wanted their fair share of the "free" soda pop.  Grrr.

But the travels were well worth it as each flight delivered me to family and happy occasions, like my niece and nephew's high school graduations.  Both are headed off to college in the Fall and we couldn't be prouder.

 She's my baby sister's baby.

 My brother and his oldest son.

And I got to snuggle with my just turned 3 years old great-niece too.  Talk about time flying by in the blink of an eye!  I can still close my eyes and see this little munchkin as a new born.

I plan to keep my feet on the ground for at least a few months this summer and look forward to visits from my niece K and my fave Aunt and Uncle in August.  I'll warn them about cold flights, packing a snack if they fly at dawn and hanging on for dear life on bumpy flights.  But mostly I'll be happy to see their smiling faces at the airport when I pick them up.  There's no place like home... unless home comes to you!

What are your summer plans?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit: © flydragon - Fotolia.com

Hit The Brakes!

I come from "Horse People", as they say.  The cowboy kind, or rather, cowgirl kind.  My sisters rode horses growing up and loved it.  Me?  Not so much.  Horses were too big and scary for my ballerina sensibilities.

Now their daughters, my nieces, ride.  And they ride really, really well.

Case in point...

This is a pic snapped just as my lovely niece rode her horse like a bat outta hell, as fast as they could, from one end of the show ring to the other, "hitting the brakes" at the last possible minute before crashing into the end of the ring.  After they stopped on a dime, she had the horse walk backwards to finish things off nicely.  And, I might add, she did it all while wearing purple sequins.

When you can ride like that, you're a National Champion winning a big shiny belt buckle, an engraved silver tray, and a gorgeous saddle.

My niece attends the great Ohio State University and is studying to be a veterinarian so I'm thinking those horse skills will come in handy in her near future.

Her mother, my baby sister, texted me through her ride while I watched a live feed of the horse show on my computer.  (Gotta love modern technology when you're bursting with pride.)  About half way through the ride, I realized that Baby Sis was probably not breathing as she watched her daughter do her thing.  So I "hit the breaks" on my OMGing and texted repeatedly to my sister to keep breathing... Which she finally did once her sweet daughter had completed her award-winning ride and was out of the ring.

We.  Are.  So.  Proud!

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Reminder?

It's hard to admit, but the older I get the more I realize my memory isn't what it used to be.  As a result, I've become a "list person".  I have them everywhere.

Colorful Post-its are on the bathroom mirror each morning so I'm reminded of what my day ahead holds (and so I don't go back to bed with the snooze button off).  There's a long yellow legal pad crammed full of "to-do" things to remember.  My iPhone sends me "Reminder" messages literally day and night, and I can't live without the phone's timer and alarm to help me remember the most important things and, when and where I need to make them happen.

In short, the need for all these reminders makes me think I "got stupid" somewhere along the way.

But I felt significantly better, when, on my 55th (gulp) birthday of all days, I discovered this important "reminder" that apparently the general public needs.

This sign was posted on every single pump at a gas station I stopped at when visiting my family last week in Ohio. 

Seeing it made me feel So.  Much.  Better!  It's a note I have never written to myself.  Phew.  Maybe I'm smarter than I thought.

Hope you're having a great Sunday.  Stop by Unknown Mami's for more Sundays In My City.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

People Who Live In Glass Houses

Around this time last year, I put on a happy face trying to make light of a scary situation-- Burglaries in my neighborhood, in THIS POST.  At that point in time, 15 house had suffered "smash and grab" robberies and I was pretty freaked out about it.  So, for peace of mind, I wore and literally carried around with me my most cherished jewelry and possessions for SEVEN months.

I did my due diligence as well to ensure our home was as safe as possible, and I talked with my security alarm company, the Homeowners Association, our Councilman's office, the police Watch Commander and all of my neighbors.  In short-- I was obsessed about making sure robberies in my 'hood did not happen again.

But they did happen, despite our living in a "safe neighborhood".  One house after another was robbed with the same actions--  Smash a back door or window for entry, grab as much loot as time allows, then run to the corner and get picked up by a waiting vehicle.  Despite so many people's best efforts the "robbery ring" continued. 

Friday it was our turn.

Very shortly after I turned our alarm on and left our home, our glass back door was broken-- the exterior door leading to our bedroom-- the 1/4 inch, super thick, glass door we had to take advantage of the beautiful view from our yard...

...was shattered to smithereens leaving our home wide open to robbers.  And rob they did.

The bedroom was methodically ransacked until they found the "mother load of loot" then it appears, they decided to leave the bedroom to explore other areas of our home.  That's when our so called "state of the art" motion sensor burglar system kicked in and the alarm blasted them right back out the broken bedroom door to disappear into the infamous LA traffic.

Our bedroom door.  Gulp.   The one place we thought we were the absolute safest in our home turned out to be the most vulnerable.  If the robbers had actually opened the door an alarm would have sounded but glass isn't "alarmable" and so they removed it.

Days later the sick feeling in my stomach is still very present.  The bedroom door is still boarded up awaiting the replacement glass and is a stark reminder of the destruction and angst caused by a very organized and skillful group of @#$%&! gang members.

I have since learned of newer, more modern "shatter detectors" for glass and, since the entire back of our home is floor to ceiling windows, they will be promptly installed.  Once again, I have made the rounds through our neighborhood distributing information and literally begging homeowners to use their alarm system (the other two houses robbed the same day did not have their alarms on).

Our alarm company representative has been to our home to review our system for recommendations on how best to "arm" our home (short of a gun which I do not want).  And I just spent an hour with the police fingerprint officer-- his black and white police car parked in front of our home brought a momentary calmness to my racing mind.

I see the horrible destruction caused by Hurricane Sandy on the television and know that millions of people are in a much, much worse place.  I'm ashamed to be so upset over a situation that clearly is minor in the scheme of things.  But still, sleep is hard to come by and I am shaken to my core.

Tonight I will be the Halloween Scrooge and not pass out candy-- The thought of opening my door to strangers is too frightening.  And, the knowledge that neighbors will ask if I heard about the burglaries means explaining I not only heard but I SAW--  I love Halloween but my yard full of decorations have been removed and the front of our house will be dark.  The window-filled back of my house will, however, be lite up like a Christmas tree so there is no doubt we are home.

My sweet husband will hold down the fort here, and tomorrow I'm running away from home-- to my first home-- in Ohio.  I.  Want.  My.  Mommy!  Soon I will be eating the worst homemade meatloaf you ever tasted but it will be my Mother's meatloaf.  As odd as it may sound, I find great comfort in that. 

Stay safe, my friends.  xo jj

Four Hours

I spent four hours today sorting through my closet in an effort to find three days worth of cool weather clothes to pack for an upcoming trip back East where it's about 25 degrees cooler than it is in Los Angeles.  Three.  Full.  Hours.

It seemed like a simple task when I started, especially since I have a jammed packed closet of clothes, but after trying everything on for an hour and a half, I started from scratch and out on two pair of Spanx--  That helped considerably.

All I need are three daytime outfits (one jeans and two for "nicer" lunches in the city with friends) and three evening outfits (for the theater, a swank dinner and a black tie wedding).  Finding six outfits wore me down!

I realized that when it comes to cold/Fall/rainy/East Coast weather I'm pretty limited in my selection of not only clothes but shoes-- as in closed toe shoes (not sandals), especially for a lot of daytime walking in something other than sneakers.  And as far as clothes go--  Black, black and black are my color only options.

Seriously, everything I own that's remotely warm enough for the trip, other than a couple of white long sleeves tee shirts, is black.

Yawn.  I've really got to work on that.

I was at my wits end, so I Skyped my favorite fashion expert for advice.....

My Great Niece E - age 2 years 4 months.

She suggested I wear an outfit just like hers-- All day, every day.... Glowing magic wand optional.

Dress Happy!

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Lemons

I've been in the "When life gives you lemons make lemonade..." mode lately.  Some days I'm better at it than others.

The next time I'm on a hideously delayed United Airlines flight from Los Angeles to Cleveland to visit my family-- A flight that should have taken 5 hours but ended up taking 14 instead, I'll order lemonade from their overpriced "snack" menu and just roll with it.  Of course when you pay a (gigantic) premium price for the luxury of a non-stop flight that turns into multiple plane changes across the country-- not because of weather or mechanical difficulties, but because "oophs", someone forgot to "service" the original plane, and you don't get a refund on your high priced non-stop flight for a much cheaper multiple-flight ticket, well... that lemonade should be complimentary, don't you think?

Apparently not.  I wrote to the Chairman of United Airlines asking for a refund in the price difference between the two flights, and I spilled a little lemonade on the page for effect.  I'm guessing I'll never hear from him but I sure felt better after speaking my mind.

And then, after all those airport changes and schlepping, my souvenir was a whopping cold that turned into bronchitis and everything that goes with it, and I spent nearly 3 weeks in bed getting over it.  I'm no "sick wimp" either.  I'm a really good patient who's known to tough this stuff out.  But this time, I was down for the count.  I drank a lot of tea with lemon.

After a week in Ohio and three weeks in bed, my house was a total disaster from not being able to get much done around here-- But wait!--  as the commercial says-- There's more!   Painters started work on the exterior of our house last week.  It's a 3 week job with a ton of prep work that needs done before the painting can even start.  Did I mention it's about 100 degrees around here?  Nasty hot.  I'm giving these guys lots and lots of water and a little lemonade on the side.  I even told them to swim in the pool of they want.  It's that H.O.T.

Unfortunately, with workers sanding every window and door frame of the house, there is no where to hide and, um, "use the facilities", so each morning I'm up at 5:45 to shower and dress before the crew arrives.  And for the record, it's been about 20 years since I've seen 5:45AM more than one day in a row.  But that's the easy part.  I'm actually going to our local McDonald's to use their restrooms a few times a day-- it just feels more private.... And I'm ordering lemonade each time so I don't take advantage of the "restrooms are for patrons only" policy.

I was in the Mickey D's parking lot today when an older woman, so tiny she could barely see over the steering wheel of her circa 1980 Cadillac, made a 100 point turn into the drive thru lane.  Seriously, it took her about ten minutes to maneuver through the crowded parking lot around to the order intercom.  Once that task was complete she had to get her faded yellow monstrosity around another sharp curve to arrive at the window to pay and pick up her food.

Standing by my car, unable to move through the snarled parking lot, I watched all of her efforts. Other drivers started blowing their horns to hurry her up but that only made things worse.  Finally she rolled down her window and asked me to help her.  It was one of those moments when you look over your shoulder hoping she's waving at someone behind you.  No such luck.

By the time I'd arrived at her car, she was out on the pavement and wanted me to actually DRIVE her car as she hobbled around to the passenger side and got in!

Huh?!?

With this increased delay you can imagine horns were honking like crazy now, people were cursing loudly-- even the McDonald's manager came outside for a look because the entire drive thru was totally blocked.

With the McDonald's manager helping direct traffic, I got behind the wheel and squeezed that massively long yellow Cadillac thru the entire drive thus process. The older woman smiled and chatted the whole time about her impending Big Mac sandwich.

Once the transaction was complete and the car smelled of classic McDonald's greasy deliciousness, I pulled the Caddy over to a spot that would be extremely easy for my new friend to make her way out of the parking lot and onto the boulevard.

She reached over and gave my hand a squeeze of thanks and place $1.00 in it so I could get myself a "little something from the restaurant".  Although the money was absolutely not necessary she insisted and we said our good-byes.

Now, finally, I headed directly to the restroom then returned to order a lemonade with my crumpled one dollar bill.  It was on of those "When life gives you lemons" kind of moments that actually made me smile.

Hope life is treating you all well.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins
Photo Credit - Lemons - © Taffi - Fotolia.com

Almost One Year

Dave and Mom - 2006

It's easy to tell when a wave of sadness washes over my mother-- In mid sentence she'll change the subject of whatever we're talking about in a very matter of fact manner.  Lately she's been changing subjects, during our frequent phone conversations, a lot because we're coming up on the first anniversary of my step-father's unexpected passing.

That last part took me a really long time to type.

"Anniversary" seems like a very wrong word to use.  Referring to my sweet step-dad, Dave, as "step" seems very wrong, as if he was not fully a part of our family.  And mentioning "passing" and Dave in the same sentence still seems very wrong too.

I can only imagine how it must feel for my mom-- thus the frequent sadness and subject changes when something overwhelms her and she remembers Dave is not physically there with her anymore.

In late July, 2011, my folks were in the process of packing up their home and moving into a beautiful new house in a senior living community that would provide them with not only independence but also all the medical care and assistance they might ever need down the road.

Their upcoming move was truly a blessing in that it was their idea.  Both realized their large, two-story house with no downstairs bathroom was becoming a problem for them.  Each had a few medical problems like arthritic knees that were being dealt with and when they understood they could actually afford to move to a beautiful one-story house in a community with a continuum of care, AND they could bring their dog too, they gladly signed on and started packing.

My mother is a journal writer and for years has written at length each night before turning in for bed. They've never been fancy journals-- thick spiral notebooks were practical and priced right for her needs, her small printing filling at least one full page per day.  I know from our conversations over the past year that mom has been reading last year's journal and comparing each day to the previous year and reminding herself of the life changes she's been dealing with. 

The last time I saw Dave, he and mom were in their front yard holding hands together and waving good-bye as I backed out of their driveway for the airport to return to my home in Los Angeles.  It was a hot Ohio afternoon but we felt good about the progress we had made during a massive four day garage sale we'd just completed in preparation for their move to the senior community in six short weeks.

My flight that should have landed at 10:30PM was delayed and didn't land until 1:15AM.  I was blurry-eyed by the time I wheeled my suitcase up the driveway to my front door.  Twenty minutes later, as I was preparing for bed, my phone "pinged" indicating I'd received a text message.  Because of the late hour, I knew something was very wrong.

"Dave's in ambulance on way to hospital."  Middle Sister sent it and I was stunned.  I'd just seen him ten hours earlier and he was fine.

But obviously he wasn't and no one knew (including his many doctors).  And now everything is different and my Mom is sad.

Today I asked mom if reading her old journals helped with the healing and mourning process.  Being a deeply religious woman, mom said she thanked God everyday for her husband of 20 years and that reading the journals helped remind her of their shared spirituality and of the many "little things" they did together.

When I asked why when she felt sad she needed to change subjects so purposefully, she of course-- changed the subject, I suspect because she decided she'd met her "crying quota" and didn't want to make me sad too.  I kept steering the conversation back to make the point that we are all sad, and all cry, and all miss Dave terribly.

I'm not sure what Mom will write in her journal tonight but I know she will be awake in the wee hours of the morning knowing that this time last year, Dave passed away peacefully in his sleep less than 48 hours after the ambulance had been called.  I hope she writes that her family supports her 1000% percent and are extremely proud of the grace with which she's handled herself since our sweet Dave died.

Each morning of their life together, Mom sipped tea and Dave gulped coffee down as they said their morning prayers together.  They spent about an hour each day in the quiet of their living room, sometimes glancing out their bay window and taking a moment to comment about the activities on their quiet street.  Now my mother sits at her new kitchen table alone looking out the front door window, their dog, Noah, by her side.

Dave with his first great-granddaughter - 2010

Tomorrow after her prayers Mom will take a large basket from the shelf in her bedroom containing more than 200 sympathy cards and letters that were sent to her when Dave passed away.  She'll make herself a second cup of tea and read each message drinking in the kindness and memories from loved ones.  As sad as she will be, and as deeply as she misses Dave, she will remember how many people all said the same thing about her beloved husband-- He was such a good man. 

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Bubbles

Sometimes the simplest things are the best.  Take bubbles for example.

I loved blowing bubbles as a kid and could sit on our front porch entertaining myself, the soapy liquid running down my arm, until my fingers were wrinkled and slippery.  I marveled at their size and shape, and tried to master the art of the perfect bubble blowing technique.

Then, somewhere along the way, I got too big for my britches and decided I was too old for bubbles-- And my daily summer ritual ceased.

Many decades later, in a second, I was transported back to my childhood and reminded of that favorite past-time-- This photo arrived today and took me there-- It made me smile. 

My great niece is mesmerized by the simple art of blowing bubbles-- something she's learning to do... in between trying to catch as many of them in their tiny hands as possible.  She will sweet talk her aunties and older cousins until they surrender joyfully and blow her a few thousand more bubbles to dance with.

It's been years since I blew bubbles and although my niece is half way across the country, I got myself a big bottle of bubbles today and practiced blowing great big ones in her honor.

Are you having fun this summer?
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Counting Heads

Six tiny 3 day old baby swans out for a stroll with Mom and Dad.

Avoiding the car was the easy part.  The curb was a different story.

Mom realized there was a problem and returned to gave the babes a pep talk.

After 7 minutes of "climbing" the babes were reminded THIS is why you eat your Wheaties!

Mom left one last babe to work things out for himself... which he finally did 4 more minutes of climbing later.

The babes were rewarded for their efforts with a swim.

All SIX of them. Mom looked back and counted just to be sure.

These pics were taken on my iPhone at the small lake near my Mom's new home in Ohio.  We watched then for at least a half house but were careful not to get to close.  Mom and Dad Swan were VERY sure we kept our distance.

Stop by and check out Unknown Mami's Sundays In My City.

How's Your Sunday?

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

And... And... And...

It's been two years since I introduced you to my first great niece, Baby E.  Two years!!!

She was a tiny little thing when she arrived early, but now she's talking non-stop, running and climbing and playing ballerina, and is so much fun!  Everyday her mom sends me a text with a photo of the day and today, celebrating Miss E's 2nd birthday.... Here she is!

I was back home in Ohio last week and we celebrated with a very purple "Barney" birthday cake, and sang the "I Love You" song over and over and over.  I know everyone gushes about the babies in their family but gosh, I love this little peanut.  She reminds me so much of her mother.

Thanks to Skype, it was a treat to have Miss E run into my arms when I arrived, and say my name-- none of that "who is this lady, shy stuff".  My heart melted A LOT.  

We played, and laughed, and sing, and danced, and ate, and shopped, and partied and... and... and... did everything but take a nap.  Although I'm sure if Miss E had actually closed her eyes I'd have sat there just watching her sleep while I tried to absorb every moment with her.

Babies are the greatest.  Big sigh.

While I was in Ohio I also attended my middle sister's retirement party after 30 years of teaching public elementary school.  I am so proud of her and wept as I watched a video of her special education class sing a song they wrote about how wonderful she is.  The only sad part of the night was the reality that she and four other teachers at her school were retiring because Ohio's governor smashed public school funds to smithereens and it would cost her too much money to continue working.  Damn.   

Oh and did I mention that Middle Sister is Miss E's favorite Auntie?  Yes, I'm working on that.  Wink.  Wink.

*****

And, since so many were kind enough to ask, below is the last quilt I completed...

Above is the front, below is the back...

*****

 And last, did you ever notice that Blogger's spellcheck doesn't include words like-- bloggers, Skype or Facebook.  What's up with that?!?
 
I hope to get back into a regular blogging schedule again and promise to be around and catch up with all of you.  Until then, enjoy the weekend.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins

Flowers and a NEW GIVEAWAY!

One of the perks, in my five year old mind, for taking ballet lessons was getting to wear a beautiful tutu.  I wanted a pink one more than words could say and I just assumed it would magically appear at my first dance class.

It did not.

But I was a patient albeit fidgety dancer-- positive I would someday be a famous ballerina with a closet filled with tutus, so I waited... thinking at the end of the dance class year I would have "earned" my magnificent tutu, like an angel earns their wings, in time for our dance recital.

No tutu then either.  Not by a mile.

In preparation for our dance recital, which was to be performed on a huge stage with a gigantic audience of about 100 family members, we budding prima ballerinas sat on the floor at our dance studio and received two pink Kleenex tissues and a couple of pieces of string.

There, our five year old hands worked diligently to make tissue carnation flowers.  We carefully folded the tissue into a fan, then folded it in half, tired the string around the center, and fluffed the tissue ends into a "flower".  My flowers looked more like a couple of used Kleenex on their way to the trash but I'd done my best.

When I asked my elegant ballet teacher, who happened to be dressed in a lovely chiffon tutu, what the "flowers" were for, she happily handed me a red plastic head band to attach my "flowers" onto thereby making my dance recital costume to match my red leotard.

My young mind raced-- This could not possibly be my costume.  I wanted a tutu and I wanted it for the dance recital-- now!  As soon as I realized that was not going to happen, I became a very disappointed ballerina with crocodile tears rolling down my face.  In fact, I have vague memories of my mother dragging me, kicking and screaming, to the recital where the idea of wearing those hideous Kleenex flowers in my hair left me in a puddle on the back seat of the car.

At that early stage of my life I learned a hard lesson about expectations.  I also learned I was not a great flower maker but I did have the potential to be a pretty good ballet dance-- which I did til my early 20s....  right up until I realized I enjoyed cheeseburgers, boys and mini skirts far better than I enjoyed blistered feet, salads and tutus.

I hadn't thought of those tissue flowers until I saw one of Attila's flower wreaths.  My flowers were a far cry from the gorgeous ones Attila's posse of creative geniuses makes.  Their handmade flowers are turned into these stunning wreaths-- AND YOU CAN WIN ONE!

SPRING WREATH GIVEAWAY!

Courtesy of Attila the Mom at Cheaper Than Therapy and her fantastic Highland Roses Collaborative Craft Studio, this happy 14" wreath-- with handmade hot pink and purple flowers with green leaf accents, would be a welcome addition to your Spring decorations, or make a nice gift to brighten up a dorm or hospital room, wish someone a happy birthday, or just remind a loved one that you're thinking of them.

It could be YOURS-  Entering is EASY.

Giveaway is available to everyone, EVERYWHERE, as long as you have a blog.  Attila will ship the wreath to you anywhere in the world-- How nice is that!

Leave one comment below to enter.

For a second chance, stop by the designer's shopping store HERE and leave a second comment below telling me which is your favorite wreath.

Giveaway ends, at Midnight, Pacific Time, April 5th.  Be sure I can reach you via email.

Come on-- Check out the Spring Wreaths and ENTER!
Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com  -  Joanna Jenkins 

I was not compensated for this giveaway.  It's a generous offer from a blog friend that I am passing on to you.
Photo Credit: © evgeniya_m - Fotolia.com

Thanksgiving Comes First 2011

Dear Retailers, Television Networks, Radio Stations and major corporations:

With all due respect to the holiday, I am asking, actually I'm begging you, to please-- please, knock off the early Christmas chatter. It's only October, not even Halloween yet, but the red and green mall decorations popping up, the trees with shiny stars on top selling ornaments, the jingle bells, the random caroling over the loud speakers, and the increasing stream of commercials, all shouting Christmas, are just too much. It leaves me in a puddle of tears on the floor.

I realize I am not your problem, and I know the economy is rough, money is tight, and profits are at risk, but if you could grant this one request by holding off on "Decking the Halls", until December and remember Thanksgiving Comes First, I'd deeply appreciate it.

Thanksgiving is my great big family's very favorite holiday, one steeped in tradition and filled with meaningful heart-felt memories that we look forward to all year long. On this holiday, we come together as a family for fellowship, joyful conversation, wonderful food, and the opportunity to take time out of our busy lives to say thank you for all the things we are so blessed to have.

We look forward to this day all year long, as do countless other Americans, and it shouldn't be swept under the table, disregarded, minimized, or taken for granted just to cash in on Christmas.

But that is not why I'm asking you to hold off on your commercialized Christmas rush this year. My request actually comes from the bottom of my heart and a sincere need to protect and support my mother and family.

We are devastated over the recent passing of my sweet step-father, Dave, and this will be our first holiday without him. We need more time to heal and mend and prepare our hearts for a Thanksgiving without him leading our family in Grace at the dinner table.

Our hearts are still so very heavy and there is a layer of sadness in my family that is difficult to describe other than to say it is a sadness so deep that Thanksgiving, my step-dad's very favorite holiday, is too hard for us to imagine yet without him.

We started preparing for Thanksgiving months ago, well before Dave's passing. His famous Pretzel Jello Salad and Cranberry Jello were two dishes he planned to lovingly prepare just the way everyone likes them.

He was going to help move the furniture out of their living room so the dining room table could stretch all the way to their front bay window allowing our entire family, young and old, to all be around the same Thanksgiving table together. It's a lot of work but it was that important to Dave and he'd have gladly rolled up his sleeves and made it happen with the help of my nephews and brother.

I know Dave had been thinking about what he would say that he was most thankful for this year when it was his turn to share with the family. It's our tradition before dessert-- to always go around the table and not only thank god and our folk's for the wonderful meal but we also give thanks and verbalize something important to each of us from the past year. We'll never know what Dave was holding in his heart to share but you can be sure he is one person we are all deeply thankful for.

This Thanksgiving will be so difficult for my family, especially our Mom because very honestly, her heart has broken into a thousand pieces. It's obvious to see when the thought of life without her Beloved crosses Mom's mind. And now with so many retailers and corporations all but ignoring Thanksgiving and it's significance makes Mom and my family feel even more devastated by our loss.

We as a family are in desperate need of Thanksgiving and the opportunity to come together and remember the things we are thankful for. As we hold hands to say Grace before our meal I have no doubt tears will flow, but I pray that it is also a time to help the healing process and for us to remember not just our sweet Dave, but also the many things we have been blessed with and are thankful for this year.

So again I ask-- Please do not rush into Christmas yet-- Let Thanksgiving Come First-- for all the right reasons, and because my mom and family are not yet ready to face a holiday with one less loved one in our life.

Sincerely, Joanna Jenkins

It's time to roll the Thanksgiving Comes First boulder up the mountain of Christmas advertising that seems to inundate us earlier and earlier with each passing year. Click HERE to read Suldog's annual post then join in and help spread the word.

I Found Uncle Charlie

Rarely was his name mentioned at family gatherings and when it was, it was usually followed by a facial expression reassembling a cross between sucking sour lemons and a whiff of a very nasty spell. Charlie was not any one's favorite uncle.

I hardly remember the old goat but I do remember he was not much of a "people person", especially "little" people, as in kids-- and growing up in our family-- there were lots of kids.

I remember Uncle Charlie as the guy at the end of our long dining room table at Thanksgiving that refused to talk when each was asked what he was thankful for. He was also the first to leave the table--heading straight to the kitchen, packing himself a doggie bag of leftovers with the green Tupperware he'd brought with him, then kissing my mom on the cheek and grumbling something as he left the house.

Uncle Charlie was from Mom's side of the family and she never considered not inviting him to our gatherings. She's a "there's-always-room-for-one-more-at-the-table" kind of person and her table included the uncle that I was never quite sure whether or not he was actually a blood relative.

And then one day he was gone. Dead. And in my 11 year old brain, that was the end of him.

Uncle Charlie didn't have any kids of his own and I vaguely remember Mom "handling things" when he passed away but I don't remember the details or a funeral for that matter.

Since Charlie's passing more than 40 years ago, Mom has lived in our family home, a down-sized home, and the home she shared with my late lovely step-father, Dave.

We are now in the process of moving Mom to a Senior Community and that involves hauling out years and years of "stuff" that fills a full basement, a two-car garage, a shed and their four bedroom house. There. Is. A. LOT. Of. Stuff!

Over the past few months, Mom has repeatedly told all five of her kids as well as Dave's five kids to "Take whatever you want-- Please!" She's moving to a two bedroom house and is more than ready to unload a massive accumulation of possessions.

Just before their doozie of a yard sale last month, Mom assigned me the glamorous task of cleaning out the garage-- I'm not sure if that was paybacks for my teenage years or if I just drew the short straw, but tackling the garage-- spiders and all, was a job I took very seriously.

Mom and Dave lived in this house for 20 years-- I can prove that too with the "saved" newspapers from 1991 that were stacked next to the full case of WD-40 oil, because you never know when you might have that many squeaky things that need oiled and repaired.

The garages were jammed pack with a meaningful collection of *ahem*crap*junk*useless*stuff* mementos like three artificial Christmas trees including one that's silver with the four-color rotating light to help set a festive mood. Not to be out done, there were also countless folding lawn chairs, an enormous quantity of nuts, bolts and power tools, two lawn mowers, several snow shovels, nine cases of canning jars, dusty wreaths for every imaginable holiday, tons of mouse poop and one odd shaped cardboard box with a tin inside it.

The outside of the box read, in faded black Magic Marker, "Uncle Charlie".

Apparently, Charlie, or rather his ashes, were on Mom's "to-do" list to take care of for quite a while and then, as life sometimes happens when you're raising five young children, got put on the back burner for another day....

Today was that day. I found Uncle Charlie. In the garage. His Tupperware was nowhere in sight.

With no disrespected intended, I understand this is a delicate situation and I don't want to offend anyone or be rude to the deceased, but what in the world was I supposed to do with Uncle Charlie?

I unfolded one of those 1960s lawn chairs and sat behind the garage, out of Mom's and the countless spiders' sight, to contemplate my next step. The last thing I wanted to do was upset Mom and I was pretty sure finding Uncle Charlie in the garage would not make her day.

I came up with nothing.

So I called Big Sister and explained the situation. Nothing. Baby Sister wasn't much help either. It was Middle Sister who had her wits about her-- Translation-- She was the only one able to stop laughing long enough to tell me to fess up and go directly me to Mom, who in turn directed me to her minister, who then arranged a date to say a few prayers and scatter Uncle Charlie's ashes in the woods behind the chapel.

At the conclusion of the 23rd Psalm, I thought for a moment about my youthful impressions of Uncle Charlie and if maybe being a bratty kid jaded my impressions of Mom's relative. She always had something nice to say about Charlie and commented many times that he'd given her the rocking chair she'd rocked her babies in.

When we returned home from the chapel, I had a sudden need to rearrange Mom's bottomless and very disorganized Tupperware cabinet. No Uncle Charlie's light green Tupperware wasn't in there but I'm pretty sure I found a little compassion for our uncle as I sorted through the mismatched pieces.

When I was finished I was glad Uncle Charlie was finally laid to rest and very glad I had found him before the garage sale.

Welcome to www.TheFiftyFactor.com - Joanna Jenkins