happy thanksgiving,all...

amma

Today, you will release through a sea mist morning as your boys ride the waves to carry you home. I will remember the pearl necklace you took from your neck on my wedding day and the welcome to family that came with it. I will remember your quiet tears when we named our youngest in your honor. Thank you, for molding the gentle man who watches over me and our babies. Like my mother, you dedicated yourself to those you loved. And from that simple act, always lies our greatest legacy.

Travel happily beyond, with song and festive spirit, Margret. And a little whiskey wouldn't hurt. ;-)

hair

We are losing our youth one after another to hate. My heart breaks for the moms who are left behind to tend the empty bedrooms. More profoundly for these diamond lives who had yet to even really begin. We must fix this epic fail in every way we can- all the way from dinner table to legislation, whatever it takes. I pray my girls will continue to live and breathe with absolute freedom in both spirit and song. My youngest left for class the other day with one-part side ponytail, one-part fuchsia hairpiece, mismatched stripes and dots and two different socks. In the rear view and very close to the moment of fizzling that fire, I caught myself. As I watched that special show make her way to through the students, I wished that I'd had that confident sparkle, that spunk...that me. Here's to all our babies- big, small, pom pom'd, pensive, straight, gay and transgendered.

As their buoys, let us feed their souls along with their tummies toward embracing all 25 in the class, including themselves...as sometimes that is the hardest. To have the fortitude to stand ground when they need to, the courage to applaud the different...practicing tolerance and compassion each and every day- from jungle gym to cap and gown and beyond. Sweet dreams in your travels, Jamey, boy.

StoryCorps' September 11 shorts, animated by the Rauch Brothers, feature stories collected through its September 11th Initiative. These works were created with the assistance and blessing of the families of the victims memorialized.

For the past five years, StoryCorps has worked to record one story to honor each life lost on September 11, 2011. To date, survivors, families, friends, and rescue workers have memorialized nearly 600 individual victims of the attacks through the StoryCorps interview process.

the american plunge

What with a husband who's been MIA for over a month now and a casa with its plummeting price tag hanging around my neck like an anvil, this temporary single mom has been feeling the heat and grumps. Big time. My Audrey Rose 1 and 2 informed me that what I needed was to lose the Debbie Downer attitude and have a little Labor Day fun. And since the summer of my discontent hadn't yielded much tah-doo for them, they thought a weekend hotel trip was in order. I agreed, figuring that life has been such a proverbial roller coaster lately, why not ride the real kind? Besides, it gives a mother a chance to scream the stress out in front of hundreds of people and not be carted off to the loony bin.

So Mama and her Maglets ♪...loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverly ♫... Well, not exactly. Our travels led us to the area's local amusement park- Silver Dollar City. Nestled in the mountains of Branson Missouri, this Appalachian playground offers up the olden days of hillbilly yore. From salt-water taffy to blacksmithing- the place has it all. It is here you will find hand-made rugs, belts, dolls, knives...plum near everything. Including a Monday morning trip to the doc for a statin script. I think I gained five pounds just by smelling all those greasy funnel cakes and great big skillets of what appeared to be succotash. There were quite a few squirrels running around on the property, so who knows? The park's latest culinary delight would make Paula Deen proud. It was a portable tator of a sort. A big ole Idaho cut into a spiral, deep-fried to a per usual golden brown, with a long skewer running up through it. By pre-loading each layer with ketchup and salt, you were pretty much good to go. At least as far as your heart could take ya anyway.

After a Warren Jeffs look-alike unhooked the chain to the main drag, it took my girls all of two seconds to yank my already aching rotator cuffs, and off we flew, with at least 80 people racing down them thar hills behind me. I accidentally dropped my park map and was bending over to retrieve it and almost got wiped out by some wide-eyed chick in a prairie dress. My kiddos are all about water rides, so I spent the rest of a really bad hair day squishing around in sopping wet tennis shoes. I did have the forethought of bringing an emergency dry tee in my backpack but after a quick restroom break to switch it out, realized that my bra was so wet it made me look like my milk had come down and I needed to nurse. We must have ridden that blasted log ride eight times that day. The girls couldn't seem to get enough of that watery wonder. The Ozark River Raft was another fave- a swirling, soaking 6-person floatie on steroids that had them squealing up a storm and me looking forward to the evening's moonshine. By the long day's end, I felt like Katrina had held me while Irene beat my ass. I slept like a baby that night. But only after two more agonizing hours in the hotel pool. Thank goodness, for my trusty "water bottle".

The next morning, over Cheerios and through an allergenic haze, I realized the two day park pass I'd purchased ended up being one day too many. My two Bald-Knobbers clamored aboard the shuttle with as much energy as the day before as I sniffled and braced myself for another sneezy one. I've discovered there's not a Zyrtec big enough to fight those Missouri oaks. Three soft pretzels and a six dollar lemonade later, we decided to give my snoot a break and went down into Marvel Cave. It is located on the property and prides itself as one of the largest caves in North America. And with its massive Cathedral Room, it did deliver and was quite impressive. That is, until I got down about 750 feet or so with two burning quads and no Xanax, then it was just an anxious, breathy climb to find the light again.

Surprisingly, I actually managed to have a few enjoyable big girl moments- riding the train that circles the park, watching the artistic hand of a glass-blower and listening to a darn good Zydeco set. You would have thought by the look of agony on the girl's faces that I was Mommie Dearest or something..."Good grief, Mom! Ugh...we came here to have fun!!"

Much to my kin's chagrin, we wrapped up the weekend, by skipping the late show and departing a couple of hours before sunset so that I could get us home safe, sound...alive. I have absolutely no sense of direction and was really sweating it through all the forested switchbacks as the sun began falling from the sky. The hills have eyes alright and even after being back here all these years I still can not get used to the dark, country roads. It just creeps me out. I guess I need the lights, honks and road rage of the 405 to help me feel settled.

So there you have it...our fam's summer blow-out. We yee-hawed it up right and made a memory or two. We even drove through a rainbow on our way back...literally! We kept admiring its beautiful, shiny arch, and the next thing you know, the windshield got all prism'd out and Will said, "Mommy, we drove right into it!" I immediately pulled over and searched for the pot of gold but only saw a cow chewing its cud and some road kill. The three of us decided to commemorate this grand event, by buying three fake silver charm bracelets at a gas station that said Hope, Strength and Believe. Sans Daddy..it wasn't quite the same. But by manifesting plenty of those three virtues, the four of us can hook back up soon and the master mag-plan will have all worked out. That, or it's looking like a Hazelden Christmas.

in time

Yesterday, my sister and I signed on the dotted line. It aches my chest to think of my parent's knoll belonging to anyone else. But change, like the turning heavens, is inevitable and we've no choice other than to comply. Through its wax and wane, comes healing, but in the meantime I surf a wave I'd rather not.

By hand, they built their yellow house from the foundation up...framed and finished with loving care, fueled by the dream of riding out their golden years in peace. And that they did. Twenty long, good ones, spent in quiet contemplation with a front row seat to grazing deer and the whimsical flight of the cardinal. The whisper of the wind through the trees...a symphony for two. And it was upon that narrow breezeway- they held, they shared.

As it grows closer to a finish, tears come quite easily. Today, Patty and I sat under a blanket of heat and salty Bloody Marys as we watched the children swim and the dragonflies dance in the sun. And it was within that quiet we stayed. Thoughts and hearts so intertwined from this painfully, exhausting journey that words seem almost unnecessary now. Whatever void that has been left within the two of us will eventually fill with light again. My mother will see to that.

Meanwhile, the memory of my folks will linger in that forest for some time to come...as tangible as oak bark. The goodness of who they were and how they lived will shine like rays through a morning mist and we will always remember. No matter if we're able to park our car in the driveway or not. Love was their beginning and end. And I am honored to have witnessed, participated and dreamed within it.

go with throttle up

Well, it's summer once again, and my liver will pay the price. The kiddos are in full, high-decibel swing and pool obsessed. Will is swimming like a dolphin and my other girl has upgraded herself to the deep-end...literally. Fourteen feet of high board and Evil Knievel water slides...the whole enchilada. Lots of growing, lots of squealing and lots of changes.

After a very difficult year, we Mags have decided to begin working our way back West. Yep, cement ponds and movie stars. We have the casa up and Big Daddy will hit the road at the end of the month to begin his new job. I will stay behind as a temporary single mom, hold down the fort in this sluggish market and try not to drink myself to death. It won't be the most fun I ever had but what are ya gonna do? That's what web cams and Skype are for, I guess. This relocation was sort of kismet with the way it unfolded and well...Mama is up for an adventure. It will cost me about 400 square feet and a sixty percent hike in health care premiums, but what the hell. Los Angeles, with all its faults ;-)....is really still home to me. I spent well over 20 years out there and have a darn good pal base and, hey, I actually know some loony moms like me who decided to have children past forty. So we can jaw and pinot grigio it up over our raw nerve endings and waning estrogen...whee!

The girls are pretty excited. Why wouldn't they be? The get to sink their toes in beach sand, whoop it up and not have to pay for it. They are leaving behind some incredible friends though...truly. My kids know how to pick 'em. We have been so fortunate to know you, Cowan, Harr and Vandiver Fams, and for that I am very thankful.

The past seven years have been a roller coaster. An Ozarkian loop-de-loop. I nested and had my second baby here, bought two homes, helped my pops through cancer, came very, very close to losing the hub to a necrotizing pneumonia and have buried both my parents. I've watched my guy work hard without complaint so that I might stay home with his children. I have enjoyed bright stars and big full moons that I swear were so close I could reach up and pluck them from the night sky. Fall has colored my world for almost a decade now with its gold and orange plaid and don't get me going on the red buds. Those gorgeous purple swatches against the green of the mountains. I treasure the time we spent in beautiful Bella Vista in our very beginning- our little niche in the trees, nursing my two little munchkins and wondering just what life had planned for me. Well, it threw in a dry county, a hideous case of the chickenpox back in '05 and some humidity, but there's always a little bad with the good, right?

As miserable as my allergies have been, I am so glad I packed up all those years ago and followed my heart. It isn't always easy, but you're always glad you did. I can not replace the hugs and ice-cream kisses shared between my parents and their grand babies. Our family's three little ones were their life, plain and simple. I have never seen mom and dad more happy then answering to the knock of those tiny little hands. All the birthdays and my sis' yummy deviled eggs....their dream of building a family had come true. As sad as it got in the end, I know in the deepest part of myself, that my folks had come full circle. That 66 year tie was complete and had yielded them a bigger bow then they'd ever expected...and more.

Yes, it has been supersonic alright. 2011, in particular. But there ain't no ejection seat in life, so onward we must go! We're so grateful for all the peeps who've come into our lives here on this part of the journey- some new friends, some old ones, some I never get to see but who I will always hold dear. One in particular, who I've known since the third grade. Darla, you are my friend, my soul sister, my angel and another mom to my kids, girl.

Thanks to all for the prayers, friendship and Facebook humor. It has been a gift. I see it really isn't so much the race itself but more about the pit-crew that fuel us along the way. Here's to new beginnings!

P.S.) Change is scary as hell. But it is inevitable.

Here's to independence & star-spangled banners! Happy birthday weekend to our country, our freedoms and our lives! Prayers go out to soldiers in all directions on this planet who are missing their family BBQs....

the road

A sixty-six year old story takes awhile to tell. It is a quiet one. Like the winding path up the knoll, past the musky scent of horse as I turn the corner that brings me back to you. Passing the old board that bears your name and through the thick forest that served as haven. Up to the porch where your crooked grin and the worn brim of a work hat is as intimately a part of this place as are the falling leaves and caw of the crow.

With lingering memory, the seasons continue their shift. And now all moments have been fed back into the wonder as a wave into the sea that made it. I hear you in a beating feather. I smell you in the gasoline and cold metal of a workshop that provided a tinker's bliss. And it is here I begin the journey to sift through lives well led, well loved...saving pages of the book that tell the tale.

Day after day, box after box, my sister and I have wiped the dust away and sorted through my parent's things. Stopping at times to hold a trophy, a drawing, a crumbled macaroni pencil holder with a barely readable 'I love you, Mommy' written on it's metal bottom. My favorite stuffie whose felt crown bore a tiny hole from a finger used to carry it about. Dolls, diplomas, the small, black velvet cape my grade-school grandmother wore through many a snowy, West Virginia winter. It is here I smile, I remember, and sometimes swallow my tears as I sit on an overturned bucket to peruse the tea-colored pages of my dead brother's baby album.

It was on a hot, sticky day three when I found an old box containing my mother's love letters to my dad while he was away at war. I took the treasure home with me that evening and spents hours reading the simple but eloquent words of a young lady asking her beloved to return home safe and that she would be waiting for him....true and brave, her love. And she did. And for the next six decades dedicated every fiber of her being to creating a nest for Papa Bird and her chicks. It was alone that night, within the walls of my dimly lit bedroom, wine and tissues at my side, I sobbed. A wail so deep and nourishing..it heals. Those letters, like a precious jewel..a symbol of the love that made me. I will honor and hold them dear all the days of my life.

And so it continues. Sis and I are slowly closing up shop. With each passing day, the house empties just a little bit more and we flinch at the thought of circling out of the drive for the last time. The mirror's shrinking reflection of the purple glint of the blackberry bushes, the jonquil patch and that sweet, yellow clapboard house. No matter who may claim the ground, this mountain will always be my fathers. He and his lady's ashes will rest here together in the whisper of the trees. And a piece of my heart will be left behind in its company.

then the rains came

My mother is at rest now. In her heart and soul. No more confusion or fear. No more days lost between her and the beloved husband who shared a lifetime. For this I am grateful. Yesterday, we interred her, alongside my father and a Chinese maple whose leaves shine red in the summer sun. Behind a gray piece of stone that bears the name but doesn't even begin to tell the story. These last few months have tore at the deepest part of me, in so many ways, and now I have no choice but to stand up and move forward. The sludge will give way eventually and Life will band-aid, then renew and heal itself. It always does.

Mom was a giver, cackle-laugher, great cook, a heart on her sleeve type of gal. She worried, loved carbs, worked hard and her kids were her life- completely. She had the most loving touch and deepest hug I have ever had the fortune to receive and she believed in me when I wasn't able to. She liked elephants and humming birds. She buried her only son but somehow managed to keep one foot in front of the other and the light within. She cared deeply about the homeless. There was never a sullen face she would lock eyes with on a street corner when she did not give him a bill or two. She believed in second chances, her God, the power of love and she was my mentor. I will never be as protected as I was within her prayer. I have written about her before and the times we shared, so now I will tell you the part of the story that was her finish. Or let's just say...the goodbye to her next hello.

The vicious hand of dementia had really worn my mom down these last three months. We were medically advised not to share the news of my father's March passing with her. The one time I followed someone’s head and not my own heart. To be totally honest with you, because this entry would be lacking if I didn't share this but...I do believe it will go down as my deepest regret and something I will spend my lifetime questioning. It was surely not for cruelty's sake that I wanted to tell her but as a hospice professional once shared with me- there is dignity in truth, truth within dignity...always.

Despite the twisted warp of this disease, I think my honesty regarding this matter would have given her answers. Reassuring answers to some possibly odd scenarios I was afraid that might have been brewing in her sick mind. Silly imaginings to us, I know. But not for a person whose brain is ravaged by plaque. I pray wholeheartedly that this pounding ache within me will lessen as I continue the grieving process and that I will learn to live with the choice I made and trust in the love and Fugi Mountain understanding of my mother that it is all okay. Perhaps somehow she saw behind my eyes and knew this secret..the only one I have ever kept from her. I must say the prayer regarding this will undoubtedly be my deepest dig yet and I hope I can forgive myself. This may seem a Debbie Downer of an entry but I guess what I am trying to share from my heart to yours is...always do it your way, even when you are out of your element...feeling frightened, overwhelmed..confused. Move in steps of confidence, because no one..NO ONE...knows the love you share and the mechanics of it. Trust your heart. Always. I know I will.

I feel it incumbent upon me to spend the rest of this page praising a most remarkable place we have here within our community. It is a temple of a hospice, quite frankly...the Circle of Life. My sister and I were fortunate to bring my mom here to complete her journey after a long struggle in nursing homes that just weren't able to really do the job. From the moment we entered, I can not remember when I was ever treated so kindly...so compassionately. Death and its process are not to be feared here. Within these walls there is solace, for the dying and for the living. Comfort and beneficence surround you. It feels like home. I remember one evening there was song and celebration from musician volunteers. I gripped the back of the sofa to keep from crying as I listened to some inspiring gospel music (something my mom loved) and I prayed wholeheartedly that the waft of its goodness would fill her ears, accompanying her on her way to the mystical beyond.

Within minutes of our arrival there, we were told by a lovely nurse that we could now go from advocate to daughter. Just the place where my sister and I needed to be. And it was there we stayed for eleven days. Some were long and stormy. Many were spent by the fireplace where our tummies were filled with hot, homemade soup and cookies...always a kind greeting from passersby. Each smile, each soft hello was something I grew to hold onto...collect...and used to infuse me when I wanted to scream out from my core. A few were spent in the quiet of an Adirondack, looking out over the water, surrounded by the most beautiful garden whose stones and benches bore the names of loved ones who had transitioned there. The butterfly, their mascot, are peppered throughout the grounds. The metamorphosis of this ethereal creature..a beautiful symbol of rebirth, the fragility of life and the amazing color of it all! I know from now on, each time I see an iridescent wing, I will think of her.

I love you, Mom. My deepest wish is one where I get the honor of walking the path beside you again, in some way or fashion. Learning and growing from your amazing example. Fly, fly, sweet lady. See you in the next tomorrow.

a beautiful truth

The morning is still and I'm thinking of you. Today we will visit with tulips and crayons but it won't be the same. Your smile is gone now...your voice is but a whisper. The sun's rays will warm our shoulders and the quiet of it all will have to be enough.

Today we raise a glass to love without conditions, a soft hand upon a cheek and gossip over coffee. We honor that part of our heart that only a mother can fill. And for some of us, the past is really all we have. There are many whose joyful memories were cut short way too early or have gently folded themselves away; some who have sadly had to do without. For those, I will revel in the treasure of my babies' tuck-in this evening and linger just a second more to listen to their peaceful breath. I have no choice but to hold what is left and honor it always. To know that nothing, not even this ravaging eraser of a disease can ever take away our history...your history with my father....your full and amazing story.

I love you, mom. I miss your laugh, the camaraderie, the perfect timing of a phone call...your homemade wheat bread with orange zest. Thank you, for your fervent prayer and perfect love that has buoyed me all the days of my life. Thank you, for believing in my dreams as if they were your own. My deepest wish is to rise to life's occasion and re-gift my two girls with all the heart and twinkle that is you.

Happy Mother's Day to you and all my devoted mommy friends who read this. Each one of you inspire me to do better and love deeper every day.

and so it goes

We memorialized my pop's life this weekend. It was a wonderful reflection of who he was, what he believed in and just how much love scatter was manifested in those nine, long decades. We shared funny stories, e.g., the time he and mom drove back in the early '80's, to West Virginia, and their rental car cassette player was on the fritz and a Conway Twitty tape was stuck inside...on an endless, repetitive loop. "I had to listen to that son-of-a-b**ch comin' and goin'!", he said. :)

While my sis and I were at his bedside in hospice, she spoke of how, no matter what Dad may have been busying himself with at the time; if you came to him to ask a question, express a feeling...he would stop what he was doing and listen. Always. Something I knew but hadn't really reflected on until she shared it with me. It was there for three weeks we sat over him, laughing, crying...remembering, until he told us to get lost and he could take it from here. He was old, tough until the end, brave in the crossover, warm to the touch and surrounded by love and its healing closure. We should all be so lucky, friends.

My youngest, T-Mag, had a birthday, her 6th, in the midst of all this. She continues to light my life. The world is your oyster, baby..your dreams are mine. Don't you ever forget that. Whatever your tomorrow brings, it will always hold my heart within it. And your grandpa's watchful eye above it.

Funny, how life is...there are goodbyes and sweet beginnings. It's mystical flow continues on- the pain, the pleasure, the loop-de-loop. Never easy but always worth it. And if we're smart, we take the time to deglaze the pan as much as we can. Because it's all those little bits on the bottom that make it so damn good.


This one's for you, Dad...

as ever

He was born in the first week of February, 88 years ago, in the hills of West Virginia. His abusive father was a successful coal mine superintendent until he lost it all and died an alcoholic, alone in a hotel room, leaving my dad to pick up the pieces. His mom had left his father many years before, which in the 1930’s, took a woman with a whole lot of guts. She raised her four kids by becoming Post Master. My dad loved and admired her with his whole heart. His closest friend was a German shepherd named Lady. He worked, pumping gas, even filled up the tanks of John Dillinger and his goons on a cloudy day way back when.

He was shy, a loner, who liked to spend all his free time hunting and fishing. He joined the navy at 18 to escape the mines. It was on a ship, as a Gunners Mate, where he spent the next six years of his life. He saw a good friend burn alive right before his very eyes and swears it was only from the prayers of his beloved mother that he lived to speak about the War. On December 7th, 1941, he was on the Lexington, an aircraft carrier that had moved southward to help reinforce Midway when he heard of the attack on Pearl Harbor. They had pulled out of Oahu just a few days before. Five months later, the Lex got torpedoed twice, followed by three bomb hits and then the gasoline vapors caught. It was there she burned until she sank..my dad jumping into the warm Coral Sea, with the sky exploding around him.

He met my mom when they were teenagers but didn’t make his move until he was visiting home, on leave. He stepped off the train, and saw her standing there, with “the prettiest, shiniest, blackest hair you ever saw”. They married at City Hall..he in his uniform and her in a mauve dress that I still have in a box in my closet. They had two kids and in the early 50’s, packed up the Chevy and moved west to California, welcomed by the fresh scent of orange blossoms and and all the dreams a young family can hold. They bought a brick home in the Valley for 18 thousand bucks. My dad became a tool and die maker and well into his 40's became a father again when yours truly came along. It was then they picked up stakes and moved eastward to Arkansas, where they farmed, cattled, grew blackberries..even owned a boat dock in a small quiet cove where memories of swimming and skipping rocks are some of my sweetest. In 1999, he buried my brother who died at 49 of a drug overdose. The only time I ever saw my father cry.

He was diagnosed with bladder cancer a year ago last January. He had 8 chemos and 32 radiations without so much as a whimper. He never lost a hair, he never complained and he always had a smile for the nurses.

He has loved my mom for 62 years. They live in a yellow house in the middle of the forest. It is there they will finish out their ordinary lives while listening to the laughter of their three grandchildren and one great grandchild. He's a veteran, he made it through, and he is my dad. I honor you today and always.

It was three years ago, Veteran's Day, that I wrote the words you just read about my father- to honor him and his years served in the United States Navy. It lets you in on the chronicle of it all. Tonight I will give you a little bit more. The spine of who he was...the piece of him, in me, who is left. And it is on this quiet, rainy evening in March, I say a final goodbye to my dad. He died just two mornings ago. A man as stubborn as myself. A man whose pride would rare up and butt heads with mine more than a time or two....a man who didn't think twice of driving back an hour and a half in the dead of a winter's night to fetch his crying girl her forgotten stuffed "Froggy" from a restaurant chair.

I can tell you he loved pinto beans, trees, Ray Charles, horehound candy and his kids. But not in that particular order. My siblings and I were first. Always. His patience and work ethic led by example and were only exceeded by his commitment and capacity to sacrifice. I will always remember his healing touch when my back was sore from fever. And the way he smiled as my mother danced to the record player. No one could make a fire as swiftly and beautiful as he. A poetic dance between brittle kindling and a beloved silver Zippo. Sadly, I remember when his mind was keen and how the vicious hand of dementia began to slowly eat away everything I knew and loved. This is where the story gets sad. But I must speak of this sadness because only by owning it and swimming through it's sludge will I make it through to the other side. The place where I know my father would want me to be.

Years ago, upon moving back to the Ozarks with the hub, my one-year-old, Will, and unborn lima bean, T-Mag, things began to manifest in him. An angry word here and there. A hurtful comment...odd behavior that I stupidly took personal and began to hold inside..like a pot simmering on the back burner. The last few months, things were said that cut me so deep, I never thought they'd heal.

I began to mourn what I had all those years before and ugly ole embitterment set in. Somewhere between the festering, wicked confusion, and badly acted Lifetime movie of the week, we lost our way together- Bobo and I. Last winter, I had to pull away after family decisions were made that I did not agree with...the situation became so painful and so physically stressful, I was forced to step back and take a breath. A breath that lasted almost two months and one that could have cost me a karmic plenty had it not been for a phone call from a nurse in the ER, who by chance, found my name in a dusty hospital file. But like any difficult mountain we are forced to climb in life, we have to sink in our boot spikes; and through time, careful thought and fervent prayer, we eventually end up atop and are rewarded with the view. And this is where my story gets good. The music swells, there's a panaramic wide-shot and what do ya know..dad and daughter unite. Just in time for Oscar season. Maybe not under the most healthy conditions...but together they find themselves, face to face, in a white room, with really bad art and the kind of healing that can only take place when the Universe opens wide and decides to teach an ordinary girl a lesson in forgiveness in the most compassionate, awesome and humbling way. It was there we held each other, we spoke more clearly than ever before and it was there I learned not to loathe myself any longer for mistakes I've made by not understanding just what it really was in the boxing ring against me. I have met an amazing woman along the way who will nurture my remaining parent who has also fallen victim to this Freddy Krueger of a disease. She will help my sister and I through the pain in understanding the ever-changing Alzheimers, and hopefully morph our helplessness into a couple of ass-kicking superheroes.

I can't help but think it was my dad's heart that forged through the glop and found me. Not the other way around. He, the ailing one, teaching his numb nut daughter the way the land lay....taking my ostrich stance to a peacock preen. That's what daddies do. A dear friend comforted me more than he will ever know by saying those two months lost between us were only but a blip in an otherwise long and loving relationship.

And so it goes, it was there in hospice, I advocated for him as hard as I could, forgave myself in the balm of his love, made up with my sister and slept on a really crappy recliner. I love you, Dad. I love you for your tenacity to reach through a ravaging disease to find me again, to forgive me when I slipped and continuing to be a mentor to me even in death. I wish you all things golden in your next life...and that I may share the journey with you again- working out the kinks and filling in the grooves...finding our way through the mystifying scape of the cosmos.

winter's ham bone

Yes...it's Mama. Down here, to the left...under the drift with the red flag on top and the vodka bottle sticking out of it. Oy with a capitol O, friends. Eighteen inches and several sub-zero temps later, me and my Magcicles made it out alive, don'tcha know. What a time we've had here in Arkansas- the New Alaska. I don't remember the winter season in them thar parts ever giving a bitch-slap like this. The white stuff went Snooki on us and it has been a flakey whopper, lemme tell ya. Of course, I have no recollection, because the last blizzard on record was back in the late 1800's! We got dumped on but good. And now 7 snow days, 11 netflix, plus the 5 day non-traditional school's winter break, later...well, you can do the math. It's the square root of one bulge-eyed, tuckered maternal unit who is tempted to go and beat a certain Superintendent's ass. Why they couldn't take away the days from the kid's May break instead, I do not know. My oldest is already struggling in math, so after all this Nanook craziness...I don't know what's going to happen to her. It sure won't be Harvard. I guess I could pull a Dugger and home school if worse comes to worse. Then again, I could also poke both of my eyeballs out. Ain't gonna happen for this stay-at-home mommy!

Yesiree, this season's festivities has been non-stop fun. Note to self- don't adopt a puppy for the Christmas holiday. Yeah, yeah, yeah...it was a grand photo and video op and the casa was all awash in sentiment, curly-ribbon and squeals but flash forward to my frozen rump in a pink robe and Fargo hat, trailing the dog over ice and dale every two hours. Potty training and -17 below just don't mix. We got through the worst of it though and he is trained and big enough now to be tethered for his tootsie-roll visits to the great outdoors but... He's a smart little guy. Cute as a button with a heart of gold. Having had to say avoir to a chomped phone charger cord, a kitchen rug and Jiminy Cricket's ascot, though, I could surely do without those razor sharp toofies.

Speaking of golden hearts...you can take the girl out of the Hollywood sunshine but ya can't take the girl out of Hollyweird! It is that glorious time of year for sparkles and Spanx- the 83rd Academy Awards, dah-lings! Turn up the snow and melo-dramatics..it is just around the corner! February- my fave month, hands down. Minus, the day after, when I wake up in a Grey Goose fog and have to say hello to another birthday. This particular one being the last official year of my forties. I better enjoy it because after this...it's all just "Sag" awards from here on. Big Daddy Mags pulled a twinkly one out of his hat this year as he scored a comped suite for our family's Oscars in the Ozarks-VI celebration. The girls are thrilled! Last year, we had my peri-menopausal Snuggie fete , but hell, this year, I just may brush my teeth and put on a little mascara!

Per usual, the hub and I have been trying to catch all the noms that are rentable since our movie dates outside of the home are few and far between. Not the proper way to see them mind you, but a Frau has gotta do what she's gotta do! The Social Network was fab..terrific screenplay, rocking score by the j'adorable Trent Reznor. It was a winner all around, I thought. I really liked Inception and was surprised Nolan was snubbed. Can't say enough about the impeccably done Toy Story-3. Animated feature winner, done deal. Another wonderful performance out of Melissa Leo. She has always been one of my favorite actors. Can't leave out the solid show of John Hawkes as a redneck meth-head, in the Ozarkian feel good movie of the year, all shot very close by in this neck of the woods. I think I saw a lady in it who works behind the deli-counter at my Walmart. Geoffrey Rush gives me a rush with each amazing character he embodies. Just love him! The King's Speech was lovely. It must be nice for Mr. Firth to be able to sip that limo Dom on his way down La Cienega, knowing full well he'll walk away with that bald, eight pound hunk o' Oscar! There are quite a few I haven't been able to view yet...Blue Valentine, being one of them and right up this Drama Mama's ally. That will be a must-see as soon as I can find a night where the children are fast asleep in their boudoir and I'm able to stay awake past my carbs and 7:15pm.

Oh, I could just emote all the live long day when it comes to award season. I don't know where I'd be without my motion pictures and inspiring performances. Year after year, the movies always deliver the Calgon moments I need to get through this crazy game called Life. It may be all about dough and business for most but I'm lucky to have the quiet, simple luxury of craft and catharsis- tucked away in a dark theatre with a salty bucket of 'corn, in my sweats and scrunchy.

P.S.) CLICK THIS LINK HERE if you are so inclined, for my Oscar Ballot, Trivia (went pretty easy on ya this year) and Quotes! Whee!!

what once was

I watched a bright orange sun rise this morning behind a frost-covered pear branch. The chill of the air worked its magic on my cheeks, as I spent a sleepless night moving back and forth across my pillow, thinking of a young boy...a child who went to school with my girls. He was nine, a cub scout and sang in a local choir. His life was lost on the playground a few days ago as I sat in my car talking to my husband about a casserole that I would make for dinner. I squinted off in the distance at the gathering of faculty and student and said a prayer as the EMT's trotted toward a fix that I thought would be a broken leg, a bad cut..a scrape or two. As I slowly moved forward, the cacophony of laughter, the squeak of swings, the excitement of a day well-studied seeped through my window along with the soft snore of my pup in the backseat. It was there, I picked up my babies, like any other day...watching their familiar jog to the car, smiles wide, arms full of backpacks and colored-paper drawings of princesses and rainbows. As we drove away, little did I know our hearts would stay behind and the hallways would forever be palpable with the sadness of one missing.

The last few days have been heavy and thick. I have looked into the worn faces of our brave school staff whose eyes will not shine for quite sometime now and watched the rosy cheeks of the very young ones atop the monkey bars, pristine in the purity of their faith, unknowing in their innocence of the harsh blow that life has given us. A wallop when we least expect it...a change that takes away warm, summer days, popsicle grins and a Christmas that never feels quite the same way again. But it is within these agonizing fractures, we learn to listen and love..to smell a rose we hurry past each morning, to see that any typical day is really not that at all. And if the 48 years I've spent on this planet has taught me anything- it is that poison can be turned into medicine. This boy's life will shout from the highest mountain tops as the many who have left before him. And we, the caretakers, will learn a little bit more at how better to keep them safe.

Today at 2 o'clock, they will memorialize this precious child. They will speak of his angelic voice, his love for video games and the imaginings & adventures he shared with his big bro. I will spend the day like I have the last few, thinking of a woman I never met but who I feel I know deeply. A mommy no different from myself and all the mothers who read this...whose breath and meaning are for their babies. I will pray for footsteps forward, for hopeful mornings...for joy again within this family.

I wish you well in your travels, Jonathan. May your rebirth be swift and glorious. There is a star that is you which will shine in a night sky this evening and in the hearts of all who knew you, sweet boy.

www.haydensgoal.org/