For the Love of D.O. G.

My cell phone rang late the other night. Nobody calls me on my cell phone late at night or early in the morning except my daughter Betsy…and never when the news is good. In between sobs, she told me that her ten year old Black Lab was having difficulty breathing and a trip to the animal emergency clinic revealed a large tumor around his heart. The cancer was definitely in his lymph nodes as well. He was in pain and the vet’s advice was to put him down.

He spent the night at the hospital and she was to pick him up the next morning to take him to his regular vet to do what she did not think she could bear to do.

You all know Betsy as one of our Single Still Single Again columnists. Her life is rarely dull. Sometimes it seems like her best friends are named Crisis and Drama. In between those two events, however, she can keep a room alive telling her real life stories that keep us all laughing.

But all I could do was cry with her the other night. I searched for the consoling things a mother is supposed to just be wise enough to say, but I could not find any words at all. My heart so hurt for her as the invisible movie screen in my mind played flashback memories of this dog my daughter so loved.

It was in her senior year of undergraduate school at Samford that I entered her apartment and saw a huge wire kennel in the middle of her living room. I sent up an SOS prayer, “Oh, Lord, please let this dog belong to Betsy’s roommate,” but I knew better from the very beginning.

Walker had come from the Birmingham Pound and was almost small enough to sleep in one of Betsy’s shoes…when he wasn’t chewing them up, that is. He grew to be the size of a small black bear and I never understood how petite Betsy managed to “walk” him. My one attempt at walking Walker required an ambulance ride to the hospital, a cat scan, two broken front teeth, and more. It wasn’t that he was bad…he was just enthusiastic about life and completely unaware of his size or strength.

He did not like having to ride in the backseat when I visited. When Betsy was in grad school in Tuscaloosa, the entire staff at the local McDonald’s looked forward to Walker’s weekly drive-thru visit for his Happy Meal.

Betsy and Walker have been inseparable this last decade. Walker has comforted her when there was no human being in sight to comfort her. Through boyfriends, several career changes, numerous interesting roommates, several surgeries, and a close call with the MRSA staph, Walker has been there.

But Betsy has been there for Walker, too. I will never forget the time he was hit by a car and she was on 280 with Walker on the backseat, sobbing into the cell phone to me as I stood in my kitchen 250 miles away that she could not remember where the animal emergency clinic was and could I please call 911 in Birmingham and get the directions for her. It was touch and go that weekend - IV’s and internal bleeding, but I firmly believe Walker’s sheer will to be with Betsy worked in his favor. He was just not ready to think she could handle life without him.

The second vet has given him a special medicine to buy a little time although he tells Betsy it is very little time – maybe days. Walker is eating, showing some responsiveness, and even played with his Lab friends Luke and Maggie yesterday. I am amazed that Betsy can be so brave knowing the inevitable outcome. But she wants that time with her faithful friend, and I so understand.

It’s just one of life’s ironies that something that brings so much joy can bring so much pain as well – I am talking about love. It’s really very dangerous to love – to give your heart away with such abandon – whether to another person or to that pet whose love is about as pure and unconditional as any love God ever allowed us to know. I think the term “broken heart” is just the perfect description because letting someone precious go does indeed leave a heart feeling shattered into pieces.

But you know what? I would rather live dangerously and cherish the good times than to be safe and miss the joy of love given and received.

…But the greatest of these is love…I Corinthians 13:13b

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Ethel and Lucy Take a Road Trip

To all of my fellow “Fly-by-the-seat-of your-pants” buddies out there, I have an epiphany. Here goes: Being organized is way overrated.

Anybody who really knows me is now incredulous. I have written with longing about an organized life for the last seven years. No more. I am done with that dream and I am kissing the guilt good-bye.
It seemed like a great idea last April when contributing writer and close friend, Kristi Brown, suggested we sign up for the “She Speaks” conference in Charlotte, North Carolina. The conference is pricey, but we had lots of frequent flyer miles, so why not cash in and go? This was an opportunity to pitch the books we are writing to publishers, hear from some seasoned speakers and writers on the “how to’s” of our craft, and – hey – I am always up for a good girl trip.

For somebody like me who is “organizing challenged,” even my step-daughter Jill, who is the queen of organization could not have done the prep work any better. My suitcase was packed two nights ahead of time, my book proposal with first three chapters were sorted in appropriate folders, and Charles did all the cooking for at least a week so I could focus on my presentation. I even went to bed early the night before – for my brain function and because I read that wrinkles diminish when one looks rested. Whatever. It seemed to make sense at the time.

Kristi and I, with fresh manicures, pedicures, and the “right” business casual wardrobes, even booked our flights a day before the conference really started just so we could be rested, perky, and alert.
On my way to the airport, Kristi called to let me know Delta had canceled our flight and rebooked us on a flight for the NEXT DAY! We agreed that was not acceptable, so we searched about and discovered we could fly out of Columbus late that afternoon. The object was, of course, to arrive in Charlotte in time for bed.

So we were off…finally…only to land in Atlanta and find that our flight to Charlotte had already taken off, and due to weather, there would be no more flights out of Atlanta until Friday morning. I was astounded at sweet Kristi Brown’s assertiveness. I thought I might have to restrain her at one point as she explained to the ticket agent that this situation was simply unacceptable. The only result of all of our frustration was that he handed us both the “overnight emergency kit” which contained a Delta Airlines T-shirt, a toothbrush and a miniscule packet of toothpaste – and we are talking MIN-I-SCULE.


Trying to pep-talk each other and convince ourselves this was not so terrible, we rushed to the restroom to brush our teeth. There was not enough toothpaste to do more than brush our front teeth, so our other toothies just had to make the best of it.

I am a lipstick and earrings kind of girl. I don’t much like to sleep straight up in an airport vinyl chair in the clothes I have worn for 16 hours, mascara smeared like raccoon eyes, and this sensation that my teeth are covered in something slimy. At 4:30 am, we gave up on sleep, ate greasy food at the only place open at that hour and tried hard not to stare at the strange assortment of fellow stranded passengers. I was just about tired enough to have lost any semblance of good judgment, and I was considering interviewing a few folks about their tattoos and their strange choice of anatomical body piercings. But Kristi convinced me I would regret that choice later. So I did not.

On the way to our long awaited departure to Charlotte, we got a great tour of every terminal in the Atlanta airport since Delta chose to change our departure gate AND terminal about six times between 5 a.m. and 7:20 a.m.

My enormous purse that was also holding my laptop had gained about ten pounds since the day before and my cute shoes that should be against the law to wear anyway were hurting my feet so much that I had developed half-dollar sized blisters on the balls of both my feet. I asked Kristi if she would mind pushing me if I could just locate a wheel chair, but we never did.
I think I am done with travel for a while. Wonder what lesson I was supposed to learn in this adventure besides always take a tube of toothpaste in your purse and avoid the Atlanta airport at all costs.

I know well the scriptures on being thankful in all circumstances. Even though I failed miserably Thursday night, I know one more thing about myself.
I handle the significant crises of life a lot better than the minor inconveniences. I think most of us do.

God is still working on me. Maybe one day, I will get the heart, the brain, and the mouth to work in sync. They just can’t get their act together.

Puts a smile in my day

Charles, granddaughter Katie and me at the store.

My Colorado Grandchildren: Sutton (4 months), Allie (4/12), and Charlotte (17 months)

CONFIDENCE or confidence??????

Charles left for the Atlanta market this morning. He was waffling till the last second – needing to go but wishing he felt more passionate about the whole shopping for inventory experience. Daisy, Thurber, and I did our favorite Saturday morning thing – reading the Wall Street Journal. Well, I confess that, despite their intelligence, they really have not learned to read, but they do love Saturday morning and the slower pace…because it’s the only day of the week I go quite so slow. I love to read Peggy Noonan. She is an incredible writer even though I don’t always like what she has to say. She is not into Sarah Palin from what I read today. Bothered me a little.

Then I swept up the dog hair that seems to accumulate by the second. It is noon and I am in pure ecstasy – sitting with my computer, wearing my pajamas and talking to my dogs. Once upon a time, that was my total ambition. Then I learned that God is great at taking whatever minute morsel of your life you offer Him and working that Ephesians 3:20 formula – “the beyond all you ask , think, imagine or dream” – idea on your pitiful little don’t- expect- anything- special kind of life.

The Mississippi heat is stifling. I sadly confess that I spend at least thirty minutes of every day bemoaning the bad hair day that is a certainty in the Mississippi humidity. I can count on a run of bad hair days from now till mid October. Pitiful, I know. I confess, too that my guilty feelings are bigger than Dolly Parton’s hair – because I did promise God during my Breast Cancer experience that I would never ever complain about a bad hair day again. One more reason for me to recall grace and to remind myself we can’t ever expect to do “good” enough to earn a crumb’s worth of the “wonderful” He is forever doling out to us.

I am going to try ( key word…”try”) to be a really good steward of these two days without Charles. I am working on my book proposal praying someone besides my children and step-children who will receive copies as gifts will buy a copy. I am also hoping to do some real reading and thinking. Life does come at me fast and there are way too many hours of every day I spend in busy work that Uncle Sam requires or the sheer mechanics of business dictate. It is hard to keep up with my Jesus thoughts if my heart and soul are running on “empty.”

I have a constant laugh with several friends about the following. I guess I am pretty Southern tried and true – and tongue in cheek, I joke that I really thought I was meant to be a princess, but nobody but me ever got the memo. Well, what I guess I really mean by all that foolishness, is most of us girls yearn for SOMEBODY to take care of the unpleasant realities like bank accounts, financial statements, profit and loss information, and all those scary components of business. God is forever treating me like a Mama Eagle who nudges her babies out of the nest. He gives me challenges and then promises to supply my strength and my need. Just as he nudges me over the edge, and I close my eyes and panic, He swoops beneath my flailing arms to provide His safety net…just an incredible reminder that He has engraved my name on the palms of His hands and He is in charge…and I am thrilled because I do not want to be in charge of anything harder than putting the bread in the toaster tomorrow morning. I am glad He knows my address, my e-mail, and my cell phone number. Psalm 139 says, “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where shall I flee from your presence?’ Whew…I like that whole idea. So glad He’s an always there God.

Follow Instructions or risk losing an eye!

I have never been good at reading instructions. It’s in my genes. My mother was the same way. It’s not due to our lack of intelligence as much as it is that we have always been afflicted with the “hurry” syndrome. If I had a dime for every disaster I have created by not reading the directions I would be a gazillionaire today. From baking bread to coloring my hair to programming a remote control and beyond….I have made some costly mistakes.

Two weeks ago I bought some new contact lens solutions that came with warnings all over the box. There were big red letters advising that not following directions could result in serious injury. Yea, yea, yea…I got it, or so I thought. I really did read the directions carefully on Monday night. No problem. My contacts were fine on Tuesday morning.
On Tuesday night I was late going to bed and I was really in a hurry and after all, I had followed the directions the first night – I was sure I could wing it. On Wednesday morning I popped in my right contact and burning pain exploded in my eye. It took about ten minutes to remove the offending lens. I tossed the lens and put a fresh one in. I also did not use the solution again, but it didn’t matter. The damage had been done.

On Friday I could not open my right eye. I’d rate the pain as a 10 on a 5 point scale! Abrasions on my cornea, fluid behind it. They tell me it will “probably” heal with time. So far, I am operating like the old Jim Backus cartoon character, Mr. Magoo. I have a different pair of glasses for every activity of the day.

This week it was computers. Two or three times in a row, I turned my computer off without shutting it down properly. It took the computer guru several hours to unravel that disaster.
The thought occurred to me this morning – well, actually that still small voice that speaks to my heart when I slow down and listen - reminded me that although the consequences of ignoring God’s instructions are not always as immediately painful as my latest bloopers, the damage to one’s life can be a whole lot more serious and the effect of our actions on those we love can be like ripples in a still pond moving out in bigger and bigger circles.
Here’s to doing better at reading AND following instructions.

“Listen to my instruction and be wise: Do not ignore it.” Proverbs 8:33

A Pink Inner Tube

One of our four-year-old granddaughters visited us last week. Swimming lessons were part of the agenda – I just have this thing about children learning to swim. I don’t think it should be optional.

Allie and I trudged to the pool every day for a week. Who would even recognize the little girl who was screaming loud enough to be heard in a three county radius on day one? She is jumping to us, going under water, and conquering her fears. She’s not “there” yet, but oh how far we have come and how much she has learned.

It amuses me that in her first efforts, she absolutely would not think about letting go of that pink inner tube. It was large…oh so large. It was deceptively safe to her not-yet-sea-worthy little arms. It was also a reminder to me of me!

We cling to our individual versions of the pink inner tube, seeking some misplaced confidence in things about as unreliable as this $5 device from Target. Oh, Lord, let us let that dumb pink thing go and let us lean on you!

Little Life Lessons

We have been running all over the place for the last two weeks. It is good to sit still today and kind of re-group. The June issue of the magazine will be out next weekend and it is one of my all time favorites. The theme is Father’s Day. I just don’t run short of ideas on that subject. I am still my daddy’s daughter and proud of it.

And in the realm of “males,” in general, we have been overwhelmed with three new grandbaby boys in the last six months. I try hard not to be too obnoxious with grandchildren pictures…but it is hard . Since a lot of our running around has been grandchildren lately, I couldn’t resist putting a few new pics up here for you.

Baby Henry who is the oldest of the new crop was born November 25, 2008 and he was christened just a week ago. He lives in Hernando and when you see pictures of him next to his three year-old big brother, Evan, at the same age, it is hard to tell who’s who. You can already tell by the way his eyes follow his brother that he is taking it all in and planning to challenge his brother in everything from the sandbox to the t-ball field and whatever else the future holds.
The pic of me and Baby Chase, who lives in Memphis, was taken at the Redbirds game that same weekend. It seemed that night, at least, that Chase will share a love for baseball with his grandfather who played baseball at (gasp) University of Alabama – let’s say a few short years ago. He looks like his grand dad – he has the same kind of eyes that smile along with the rest of him when he’s happy. I just love it.
Our youngest grandboy was born May 5 in Denver and I will be traveling to see him in about two weeks. He is Phillip Sutton Smith, son of Lem and Merrill. With two big sisters to boss him around, I have no doubt he will learn about women early on and will carve out his own strong identity in spite of all the mothering and arranging they will just be prone to do.

This note comes with news and no particular spiritual message except some hard earned words of wisdom. The time with our children is much too short even though there are days when we think this season of small children and never ending demands are eternal! There is absolutely nothing on the “to do” list that is more significant now or ever than what our children just picked up by watching us today!