Charles Baker Davidson
March 20, 1926 - October 30, 2011
Son, Brother, Husband, Father, Grandfather, Great-Grandfather
Nov. 2: The celebration of Daddy's life was just right. The church was filled with probably more than 200 people. A lot of those people were family, but there were also many, many friends.
The pastor has only been at Mom and Dad's longtime church (and the church I remember growing up in) since January, but he did a wonderful job of expressing Daddy's spirit and his legacy of family, faith, friends, farm and hard work. Chuck had really listened to Daddy in recent weeks and also to the family, and was able to celebrate his life fully and also share the message of Christ.
Emily read the family recollections of Charles, who he was and some of what he liked. Then I sang "Blessed Assurance." I didn't even remember until that night at Mom's that I changed the words to the final chorus, singing: "This is Dad's story, this is his song, praising our Savior all the day long." I actually looked at Daddy's picture some as I sang and when I finished. I am so grateful to have been able to do that. I didn't fall apart until the service was over, then collected myself in about five minutes or so.
There were so many people at the reception. I didn't even see some of them. Due to many requests, the pastor got the group to quiet down and I did sing the song Daddy in late August had said he wanted written and sung at the gathering after his service. Amy and I wrote it: "Charlie D's Farm." "Ol' Charlie D he had a farm, EIEIO ..." It was fun and very well-received, too. Amy's friends and Sally were among the insistent ones.
My prayer at the end of that day, or along the way: Lord, please help me remember and savor and acknowledge all of your love and grace to our family through these dear ones. I know you are raising us up. Please help me stay focused on You and to live to Your glory.
I have to keep reminding myself that the blog is a Web log, a place where I can record things, and if the first two years is an indication, easily return to them.
So, what is written above is pretty much the note I wrote myself that day. What follows are some of the other notes or reflections I made leading up to that day. Some of it is very personal, so don't feel obligated to keep reading. Again, I don't trust my memory, and writing helps me remember. Possibly it will help others, also, either remember or to make their own kind of notes of those special moments they want to be sure not to forget. (I'm a bit envious of those who don't have to write everything down. I have to remind myself that God created me exactly the way I am, and just tresure the blessing of that.)
Nov 1: I don't even know where to start. From a friend: In very clear ways, a testimony to his life. Psalm 128:3.
Oct. 30: Daddy's gone to heaven. 10/30/11
Mom, Becky and I found out while we were in church. Mom's sister Sally and grandson Brian were with Daddy.
On that long (20-minutes?) drive home from church, the Christian radio station played great songs. The one that really caught my attention and made me prismy (smiles through tears) was an enthusiatic arrangement of "When the Saints Go Marching In." I guess he made it! I had no doubt.
Daddy wanted Mom to go to church. I have to believe that. He told me that the week before. He knew that's where we were going.
Mom had forgotton her phone, and I had called on the way to church to give Brian my number in case they needed to reach us, even though we didn't think they would. I turned the ringer off. So neither I nor Emily (Brian's wife, sitting on the pew next to us) nor Becky (my sister, Emily's mom, driving in for Sunday School) heard our phones to get the calls or messages. Brian had to call sister-in-law Brandi and Emily's dad, Tom, for help, and Tom called the church and they got Becky and told her she needed to call Tom. Becky, Mom and I all had been visiting with people and having good fellowship at church. And then ... In an instant it all changed. I just hope and pray that Mom and Brian and Sally and I never lose faith that God was totally in control of the timing and situation.
Mom insisted on driving home. I was with her, which made it OK, I guess. The music on the radio was comforting. "You Raise Me Up" brought tears as we drove on the gravel and up the lane.
Daddy was so ready. I don't understand why it didn't work out for Mom to be there. I have to believe -- and I do -- that it was all in God's plan for Mom and Daddy and all of us. He is in heaven now. And he has no more pain. And he is reunited with the dear ones who have gone before, including Granny and Grandpa (his Mom and Dad), grandson Ryan, sister Ella Frances and in-laws including Joe and Bobby. But it's still so hard to let him go. Thank you, Lord, for your mercy, love, grace and compassion. We trust you to provide everything we need, now and in the days to come.
Other thoughts/notes about that day:
--Mitsi was on the bed on Daddy's legs as he breathed his last breath, and she got back up there before we got home. Mom didn't even notice her, but I did. That may have been just for me. Before we left, I had said to Daddy how I remembered him saying Mitsi wasn't his cat anymore since he couldn't take care of her. But I assured him he was definitely still her guy.
--It was Becky's birthday. I had just sang happy birthday to her at the church when we got the call. Mom said she hated that it happened on Becky's birthday. But Becky said she realized about two weeks ago it might happen, and when it did, she accepted it as a gift.
--The preacher came by while Becky and Emily and I went to the Dress Barn looking for something for me to wear and for me to buy her a present. So I missed that spiritual bit. But before the funeral home took Daddy's body after Mike got there around 4 pm, all of us who were there at the time, including many who were not when the preacher was there, gathered together, and I prayed. I'm very grateful to have been able to do that.
--It was important to Mike that Daddy's body still be there because when he left to return to Arkansas the day before, he or Daddy had said something about whether Daddy would be there when he came back. Daddy said he would be. Mike also sees why it was important for him to be with his family the night and the next morning to share the news.
--More such moments that I can write. I need to just turn off the light, recite the 23rd Psalm and trust God to hold me and these dear precious ones in the palm of his hand.
Oct. 23-29: Loving my Daddy
Sunday, Oct. 23: Sitting and talking quietly with him. Not avoiding the reality. Him feeling safe to say he knows his life on Earth is over for all practical purposes, and he hates how hard this time is for Mom and that he doesn't want her to wear herself out. He said he would rather not go to a nursing home, but he accepts that at some point that may be what needs to happen for Mom, and he wouldn't want to fight it. That's when he looked at me and said he knows his life is over. And he's OK with that. We talked about the ones who have gone before, and about how blessed and grateful our family is. He said he can't really think of anything he'd do differently in his life, but he doesn't think about that too much because you can't change the past anyway. I said that's right -- we can just live this moment and forward.
And I did what I'd been praying to be able to do: I sang "How Great Thou Art." And then without really planning to, I prayed with him. I prayed for God to just lift up Mom and Dad and our family and to guide and support us and help us live each moment to his glory and I don't even know what else, but it was from the heart.
I said I realize that it's possible the end will come and I won't be there with him at that time, and I think I'm OK with that. I know he won't be alone, and that I am with him in spirit.
Very grateful and blessed.
I love my Daddy so much.
More notes on that: I told him I hope and pray he doesn't have to go to a nursing home, but I'm glad he's realistic about the possibilities. Very good, intimate talk. That's when he said Mom needs to go to church when I or someone is there to stay with him.
God provided and blessed the moment. Grateful.
Sent to Mike very late on Saturday, Oct. 29, catching up since he headed back to Arkansas before I got there: I'm glad you were able to be there when you were. Things seem to be changing pretty fast. Who knows what's next. I'm very grateful for last Sunday morning when I had a good talk with Daddy, and he said a few things to me, too. Then I sang How Great Thou Art and prayed aloud, holding his hand. From what I see tonight, it's hard to realize that was just a week ago. Praying to know what to do to be most helpful to him and mom. Feeling pretty helpless, though.
For today, Nov. 14: Different people work through things different ways, and as I pray to know how to feel and process and move, God often seems to guide me to write (or sing) and just trust Him with the results. And so I share words, even if they are really just for me and God. I truly thought writing all of this would bring a flood of tears. It still brings a flood of feelings, but the tears are staying behind the surface, just misting the eyes. For now, I just keep rejoicing and praising God for the blessings and love He bestowed upon Daddy and our family.
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Monday, November 14, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Savoring the Spirit of Aggieland -- and more
A quick wedding anniversary/football weekend trip to College Station and Texas A&M University brought many smiles, rekindled memories and renewed hope.
Few eras of my life are marked by vivid, precise, detailed memories, and that includes my college years. I can't think of any friendships that I made during college that have endured and grown. My strongest relationships I have tied to Aggieland are people I knew before I attended school there or that I met since I graduated.
Except for Gene. I grew up on a family farm just nine miles from Gene's family's farm, and our families attended the same church, but Gene and I, three years apart in age and attending different public schools, didn't meet until we were more than 200 miles from Cooke County at Texas A&M. We met near the end of my first semester, at a Cooke County hometown club party at the apartment complex where I lived. The next I remember of Gene was when he recognized me in the Geology classroom at the start of the spring semester. By the end of the semester, we were dating. And as best I recall, I guess we've been in a relationship ever since. I can't think of a time we ever broke up, which is really kind of amazing, because we are so different in many ways. (That's a whole other blog post -- or several.)
Even as we walked around campus before Midnight Yell Practice on Saturday and then before the game on Sunday, I'm sure we both were aware of our different styles. But something about that east-central Texas air and especially the sound of the Fighting Texas Aggie Band and a mass of Aggies doing tradition yells just pushed the differences aside and drew us together like twentysomethings.
Spending a few hours at the George Bush Presidential Library, with its prevalent themes of family, faith, service and integrity, fit right in with the spirit of the weekend.
We've been back home and now at work a couple of days, and I can see how easy it is to fall back into old patterns, partly because of work schedules but also just from our own set ways. I don't want that to happen. This can be different. This can still be fun. What can I do to make it happen? I know I'm supposed to live one day at a time, but I don't think it's too early to start planning for Sept. 4, 2012. What can I do today to make the 30th anniversary even better than the 29th (or the 25th -- celebrating at Alcatraz was especially memorable!)? I think it really does come down to how I live each day. In the rush of things, I don't always find quality time for Gene, even on the days when our schedules would allow it. I will work to improve that.
The decision to go to the A&M vs. SMU game, which happened to be on our anniversary, was made less than a week before we left. That's pretty spontaneous for us. Everything costs twice as much when you wait that late to commit. But I'm glad we did it. It reminded me of a few more of the blessings I sometimes take for granted -- and reminded me that the best ways to experience blessings and feel joy and gratitude are to share them. And of course, I must always do so in an attitude of humble gratitude and praise to God.
Few eras of my life are marked by vivid, precise, detailed memories, and that includes my college years. I can't think of any friendships that I made during college that have endured and grown. My strongest relationships I have tied to Aggieland are people I knew before I attended school there or that I met since I graduated.
Except for Gene. I grew up on a family farm just nine miles from Gene's family's farm, and our families attended the same church, but Gene and I, three years apart in age and attending different public schools, didn't meet until we were more than 200 miles from Cooke County at Texas A&M. We met near the end of my first semester, at a Cooke County hometown club party at the apartment complex where I lived. The next I remember of Gene was when he recognized me in the Geology classroom at the start of the spring semester. By the end of the semester, we were dating. And as best I recall, I guess we've been in a relationship ever since. I can't think of a time we ever broke up, which is really kind of amazing, because we are so different in many ways. (That's a whole other blog post -- or several.)
Even as we walked around campus before Midnight Yell Practice on Saturday and then before the game on Sunday, I'm sure we both were aware of our different styles. But something about that east-central Texas air and especially the sound of the Fighting Texas Aggie Band and a mass of Aggies doing tradition yells just pushed the differences aside and drew us together like twentysomethings.
Spending a few hours at the George Bush Presidential Library, with its prevalent themes of family, faith, service and integrity, fit right in with the spirit of the weekend.
We've been back home and now at work a couple of days, and I can see how easy it is to fall back into old patterns, partly because of work schedules but also just from our own set ways. I don't want that to happen. This can be different. This can still be fun. What can I do to make it happen? I know I'm supposed to live one day at a time, but I don't think it's too early to start planning for Sept. 4, 2012. What can I do today to make the 30th anniversary even better than the 29th (or the 25th -- celebrating at Alcatraz was especially memorable!)? I think it really does come down to how I live each day. In the rush of things, I don't always find quality time for Gene, even on the days when our schedules would allow it. I will work to improve that.
The decision to go to the A&M vs. SMU game, which happened to be on our anniversary, was made less than a week before we left. That's pretty spontaneous for us. Everything costs twice as much when you wait that late to commit. But I'm glad we did it. It reminded me of a few more of the blessings I sometimes take for granted -- and reminded me that the best ways to experience blessings and feel joy and gratitude are to share them. And of course, I must always do so in an attitude of humble gratitude and praise to God.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Sometimes God says, 'This one's yours'
Sometimes God clearly says: This one's yours.
That's what happened after my friend Kathy's husband died. My first reaction was to feel regretful and ashamed that I had not visited Chuck or even sent a card during this extended hospital stay. I did pray often for him and for Kathy. But I felt like I should have done more.
The next day, during my prayer time at church, I mentioned that I felt ashamed and regretful for not being a better friend. As I journaled while I prayed, I wrote down that whatever I did now would be too little too late. But I continued to pray. Another thought was that maybe God is calling other people to visit and comfort now, and my time will come later. But that seemed pretty much like rationalization to me.
I was actually surprised when, soon after I returned home, I picked up the phone and called Kathy. I usually procrastinate or make excuses not to call (she'll be too busy, etc.), but this time I did call. And Kathy answered. And we talked. We spoke of Chuck's indomitable spirit and optimism and Kathy's loving care. I mentioned that I had recently tried to find the words for the song she had asked me to sing at their wedding 20 years ago ("Mizpah [May Your Love Flow Like a Fountain]") -- and she asked if I would sing it at Chuck's memorial service. I don't think that had even occurred to me. But how could I not say yes. And so I did, even though I had been previously unsuccessful in tracking down those lyrics. Not surprisingly, after I hung up the phone, I went to the computer and found the lyrics. Six days later, I sang at the celebration of this dear man's life.
This may sound like it's about me, but it is about God. OK, maybe it is about me: How I see God working. (I know I only see a glimpse of what God is doing, and I don't know whether my perceptions of what I see are even accurate.) Anyway, throughout that week of remembering and celebrating Chuck's life were reminders of how God calls us to live. Listed as Chuck's favorite quotes: "Trust God, clean house and work with others." "Live in the now." "I try not to complain, condemn or criticize." Also included were the Rotary Club four-way test (is it true? is it fair ...? will it build goodwill ...? will it be beneficial ...?) and the long version of "The Serenity Prayer." Chuck lived these principles, providing an example that these nice platitudes really are possible to exemplify, even in the face of massive, ultimately fatal health problems, not to mention a difficult childhood and many other kinds of rocky places in life along the way.
As I've written before and found myself pondering again with the memorial service Tuesday, I don't understand why I fail to act on so many opportunities to call, send a card, visit or help, whether it be just to maintain a friendship or to be Christ's love to someone who is lonely, grieving or in need. But even when I seem to fall short, I just keep praying to know and DO God's will. And sometimes, such as this, God seems to clearly say: "This one's yours." I'm grateful I was able to hear, and I pray to continue to grow in awareness and responsiveness to such calls.
That's what happened after my friend Kathy's husband died. My first reaction was to feel regretful and ashamed that I had not visited Chuck or even sent a card during this extended hospital stay. I did pray often for him and for Kathy. But I felt like I should have done more.
The next day, during my prayer time at church, I mentioned that I felt ashamed and regretful for not being a better friend. As I journaled while I prayed, I wrote down that whatever I did now would be too little too late. But I continued to pray. Another thought was that maybe God is calling other people to visit and comfort now, and my time will come later. But that seemed pretty much like rationalization to me.
I was actually surprised when, soon after I returned home, I picked up the phone and called Kathy. I usually procrastinate or make excuses not to call (she'll be too busy, etc.), but this time I did call. And Kathy answered. And we talked. We spoke of Chuck's indomitable spirit and optimism and Kathy's loving care. I mentioned that I had recently tried to find the words for the song she had asked me to sing at their wedding 20 years ago ("Mizpah [May Your Love Flow Like a Fountain]") -- and she asked if I would sing it at Chuck's memorial service. I don't think that had even occurred to me. But how could I not say yes. And so I did, even though I had been previously unsuccessful in tracking down those lyrics. Not surprisingly, after I hung up the phone, I went to the computer and found the lyrics. Six days later, I sang at the celebration of this dear man's life.
This may sound like it's about me, but it is about God. OK, maybe it is about me: How I see God working. (I know I only see a glimpse of what God is doing, and I don't know whether my perceptions of what I see are even accurate.) Anyway, throughout that week of remembering and celebrating Chuck's life were reminders of how God calls us to live. Listed as Chuck's favorite quotes: "Trust God, clean house and work with others." "Live in the now." "I try not to complain, condemn or criticize." Also included were the Rotary Club four-way test (is it true? is it fair ...? will it build goodwill ...? will it be beneficial ...?) and the long version of "The Serenity Prayer." Chuck lived these principles, providing an example that these nice platitudes really are possible to exemplify, even in the face of massive, ultimately fatal health problems, not to mention a difficult childhood and many other kinds of rocky places in life along the way.
As I've written before and found myself pondering again with the memorial service Tuesday, I don't understand why I fail to act on so many opportunities to call, send a card, visit or help, whether it be just to maintain a friendship or to be Christ's love to someone who is lonely, grieving or in need. But even when I seem to fall short, I just keep praying to know and DO God's will. And sometimes, such as this, God seems to clearly say: "This one's yours." I'm grateful I was able to hear, and I pray to continue to grow in awareness and responsiveness to such calls.
Friday, June 25, 2010
How could I not know that?
Psalmcat 51:6.25.10
I try so hard. On some level, I suppose I try to be perfect. I mean, who wants to be wrong? I spent a lot of years and missed opportunities, being afraid my lack of skill, knowledge or confidence would be revealed if I tried something and faltered or failed.
In recent years, I've been gaining or regaining some confidence. I'm far from fearless, but I've grown bolder in taking measured risks to follow through on my heart's desires, whether it's to express something in writing, sing a song in public, make a commitment or get involved with a cause I care about.
So, when my Mom kindly pointed out that my heartfelt Father's Day blog had a a big old factual error, some old feelings surfaced. Shame. Embarrassment. And a tinge of sadness.
"Why did you not know that your Daddy graduated from high school?" was her question. In the past, I would have stayed stuck on shame and embarrassment. How, indeed, could I not have known? But this time, I responded with possible reasons. I couldn't remember hearing it talked about. I thought he went to a community school through the eighth-grade. It's still hard for me to think of him going almost 20 miles to Gainesville High School in the 1940s. Over the years, my mind filled in a gap by assuming he didn't go to or graduate from high school.
The neat thing is, I'm glad to have the record set straight; better late than never. Since I learned of my error last Sunday, I've found myself wondering what else I don't know -- and realizing I'll probably never fill in all the gaps. I've never been that good at history and remembering details. In fact, it's possible I knew this detail about Daddy, but just forgot -- completely!
Another tendency I've had in the past is to get frustrated and bogged down in regret over things I don't know or didn't do. Why haven't I gone to graduate school? Why am I not more organized? Why have I not accomplished more professionally? How can I not know so many things that everyone else seems to know, from popular quotes from current and classic movies, literature and songs to what part of their state various cities are in. One of my biggest vulnerabilities is all the stuff I think I should know that either I've forgotten, never learned or just didn't pay enough attention to realize. I can get depressed thinking of all the things I could do if I didn't waste time watching sports on TV or surfing the Internet or whatever my latest distraction is.
I'm not proud of my lack of focus in setting goals and making the most of my life and opportunties, but I'm no longer ashamed, either. As I get older, I'm trying to pay more attention, again thinking it's better late than never, but also realizing my memory's probably not going to be as good at keeping track as it might have been if I'd been more disciplined when I was younger. Most days, I accept who I am, even as I strive to improve. Daily Bible reading and prayer help immensely, reminding me my life is in God's hands. I'm trying to trust that as I continue to seek God, all the other things will add up, to His glory, and I'll know what I need to know and do what I need to do.
I try so hard. On some level, I suppose I try to be perfect. I mean, who wants to be wrong? I spent a lot of years and missed opportunities, being afraid my lack of skill, knowledge or confidence would be revealed if I tried something and faltered or failed.
In recent years, I've been gaining or regaining some confidence. I'm far from fearless, but I've grown bolder in taking measured risks to follow through on my heart's desires, whether it's to express something in writing, sing a song in public, make a commitment or get involved with a cause I care about.
So, when my Mom kindly pointed out that my heartfelt Father's Day blog had a a big old factual error, some old feelings surfaced. Shame. Embarrassment. And a tinge of sadness.
"Why did you not know that your Daddy graduated from high school?" was her question. In the past, I would have stayed stuck on shame and embarrassment. How, indeed, could I not have known? But this time, I responded with possible reasons. I couldn't remember hearing it talked about. I thought he went to a community school through the eighth-grade. It's still hard for me to think of him going almost 20 miles to Gainesville High School in the 1940s. Over the years, my mind filled in a gap by assuming he didn't go to or graduate from high school.
The neat thing is, I'm glad to have the record set straight; better late than never. Since I learned of my error last Sunday, I've found myself wondering what else I don't know -- and realizing I'll probably never fill in all the gaps. I've never been that good at history and remembering details. In fact, it's possible I knew this detail about Daddy, but just forgot -- completely!
Another tendency I've had in the past is to get frustrated and bogged down in regret over things I don't know or didn't do. Why haven't I gone to graduate school? Why am I not more organized? Why have I not accomplished more professionally? How can I not know so many things that everyone else seems to know, from popular quotes from current and classic movies, literature and songs to what part of their state various cities are in. One of my biggest vulnerabilities is all the stuff I think I should know that either I've forgotten, never learned or just didn't pay enough attention to realize. I can get depressed thinking of all the things I could do if I didn't waste time watching sports on TV or surfing the Internet or whatever my latest distraction is.
I'm not proud of my lack of focus in setting goals and making the most of my life and opportunties, but I'm no longer ashamed, either. As I get older, I'm trying to pay more attention, again thinking it's better late than never, but also realizing my memory's probably not going to be as good at keeping track as it might have been if I'd been more disciplined when I was younger. Most days, I accept who I am, even as I strive to improve. Daily Bible reading and prayer help immensely, reminding me my life is in God's hands. I'm trying to trust that as I continue to seek God, all the other things will add up, to His glory, and I'll know what I need to know and do what I need to do.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Let the "Memory" live
Psalmcat 51:6.14.10
The request: Would I be willing to be on my sister's Relay for Life team and represent the team in the fundraising pageant. The instructions: Sing a song dressed like the singer. Our first thought was something from "The Sound of Music." That sounded easy and fun. But something stirred in my memory, and the next thing I knew, I was destined to be a singing cat!
You see, years ago -- maybe 20? -- I had another sister make me a furry cat costume for a Halloween party. I knew that costume -- including hood, shoe covers and mittens -- was still in my closet, although I had not worn it since then. I also knew I'd once sung "Memory" from "Cats the Musical" at a church talent show, wearing a much simpler version of a cat costume.
Something about Relay for Life -- typically a 12-hour walk to raise money for a cure for cancer, to remember those who have died and and to provide hope and support for survivors, which takes place in communities around the nation -- makes wearing a full-body, furry cat costume on a hot June evening in Perry, Oklahoma, seem like just the right thing to do. And did I mention that, since I'd be performing as a cat, I'd be speaking in meow, hiss and purr? And did I mention that I am a grown woman?
I did not find favor from my private audience of cat at home as I practiced my pageant performance. Bridget just did not understand or appreciate. Oh, but she did inspire me! Even though I had no idea how an audience of people would respond, I could hardly wait to find out.
Curtain time for the pageant was 9 p.m., and I started putting on my costume about 8:50. I had not done a dress rehearsal, but it went amazingly smoothly. And then it was time to take the stage. The emcee asked contestants to introduce themselves. The first was a group of performers doing a medley from "Grease." The next contestant? "Meow." And who are you representing? "Meow, meow." Somehow, this smart emcee knew that meant I was representing Orange Crush.
All of the other contestants introduced themselves (during which time the cat took a little nap), and then it was time for my question. The emcee coaxed me out of my slumber then asked a question. I think it was what's my favorite kind of ice cream? That was easy. "Meow meow!" She seemed pleased with the answer.
Soon, we all paraded off the stage, to be called back when it was our turn. I was supposed to be about fourth, but because it was a hot night for a cat, they let me go second. I immediately laid down on stage, but when the music started, I perked up. I just can't resist singing along to the music of "Memory," and so I did. I didn't really know or care what those people thought. This cat was just having fun. Too soon, the music ended, and I had to step off stage.
But as I walked down the steps, the most heartwarming thing happened: A young girl came up, half boldly and half timidly, and asked if she could have her picture made with the kitty! And thus began about 30 minutes mingling with young and old, being appreciated just for being a cat! I only saw two young children who were overly traumatized by this big furry thing, and I tried to ease away slowly.
With the help of relay team members, including my sister, we were able to collect almost enough donations to win the title! But Grizabella the Glamour Cat wannabe singing "Memory" from "Cats the Musical" won a prize that couldn't be topped: The response of those children to a silly old woman willing to dress up in a cat costume and meow musically to her heart's content, and then to be petted and photographed with. Let the "Memory" live again and again!
https://youtu.be/pr8w444XJIQ
https://youtu.be/e5r7Rf23bkg
The request: Would I be willing to be on my sister's Relay for Life team and represent the team in the fundraising pageant. The instructions: Sing a song dressed like the singer. Our first thought was something from "The Sound of Music." That sounded easy and fun. But something stirred in my memory, and the next thing I knew, I was destined to be a singing cat!
You see, years ago -- maybe 20? -- I had another sister make me a furry cat costume for a Halloween party. I knew that costume -- including hood, shoe covers and mittens -- was still in my closet, although I had not worn it since then. I also knew I'd once sung "Memory" from "Cats the Musical" at a church talent show, wearing a much simpler version of a cat costume.
Something about Relay for Life -- typically a 12-hour walk to raise money for a cure for cancer, to remember those who have died and and to provide hope and support for survivors, which takes place in communities around the nation -- makes wearing a full-body, furry cat costume on a hot June evening in Perry, Oklahoma, seem like just the right thing to do. And did I mention that, since I'd be performing as a cat, I'd be speaking in meow, hiss and purr? And did I mention that I am a grown woman?
I did not find favor from my private audience of cat at home as I practiced my pageant performance. Bridget just did not understand or appreciate. Oh, but she did inspire me! Even though I had no idea how an audience of people would respond, I could hardly wait to find out.
Curtain time for the pageant was 9 p.m., and I started putting on my costume about 8:50. I had not done a dress rehearsal, but it went amazingly smoothly. And then it was time to take the stage. The emcee asked contestants to introduce themselves. The first was a group of performers doing a medley from "Grease." The next contestant? "Meow." And who are you representing? "Meow, meow." Somehow, this smart emcee knew that meant I was representing Orange Crush.
All of the other contestants introduced themselves (during which time the cat took a little nap), and then it was time for my question. The emcee coaxed me out of my slumber then asked a question. I think it was what's my favorite kind of ice cream? That was easy. "Meow meow!" She seemed pleased with the answer.
Soon, we all paraded off the stage, to be called back when it was our turn. I was supposed to be about fourth, but because it was a hot night for a cat, they let me go second. I immediately laid down on stage, but when the music started, I perked up. I just can't resist singing along to the music of "Memory," and so I did. I didn't really know or care what those people thought. This cat was just having fun. Too soon, the music ended, and I had to step off stage.
But as I walked down the steps, the most heartwarming thing happened: A young girl came up, half boldly and half timidly, and asked if she could have her picture made with the kitty! And thus began about 30 minutes mingling with young and old, being appreciated just for being a cat! I only saw two young children who were overly traumatized by this big furry thing, and I tried to ease away slowly.
With the help of relay team members, including my sister, we were able to collect almost enough donations to win the title! But Grizabella the Glamour Cat wannabe singing "Memory" from "Cats the Musical" won a prize that couldn't be topped: The response of those children to a silly old woman willing to dress up in a cat costume and meow musically to her heart's content, and then to be petted and photographed with. Let the "Memory" live again and again!
https://youtu.be/pr8w444XJIQ
https://youtu.be/e5r7Rf23bkg
Friday, May 28, 2010
Blog time, Memorial Day weekend edition
Tonight's writing is back to basics. There's only one reason for me to be sitting here typing right now, and it is because I made a commitment to myself, and I'm trying to follow through. The commitment/goal: Post something at least once a week, a goal later refined to mean don't go more than seven days (Saturday to Saturday, etc.) without posting.
There have been things I've wanted to write about (Relay for Life; joy of working hard; a fascinating Psalm passage; getting locked out of choir practice) before and since I posted last Saturday, but I've ended up being too tired by day's end to even try. It would have been nice to have one of those rare moments where words and inspiration just come, but that didn't happen.
I know most of the reason. For the past two weeks, two key people on the reduced staff at work have been gone, one for vacation and one for medical reasons. I haven't worked all that much longer these days, but the intensity has been high. By the time I get home, I feel mentally drained. Unfortunately, rather than go to bed when I feel tired, I'm more likely to lose focus and end up watching TV, surfing the Internet or reading when the very best way to spend my time would be with my body in bed and my head on a pillow.
Now it's Memorial Day weekend. I'm so far behind, I don't even know where to start in trying to catch up at home and then also to enjoy the holiday. I guess I've started by blogging. Tomorrow, I may watch the Texas Aggies play baseball here in the Big 12 tournament. I can't even justify in my own mind why that's worth doing, but I want to do it, and I can, so I think I will. (I think I'll take a book and some paper to write on, though, in case my mind starts wandering, I start second-guessing myself, and the ideas flow!)
For some reason, that made me realize the holiday also brings up some emotional issues, involving such things as my own lack of knowledge of history and my connection to it. It's one of those times when I think there are probably things I should be doing, but again, I don't even know where to begin.
Tonight, it starts with writing and posting. Before the weekend's over, it will include some precious time spent visiting my parents and other family members. Maybe there will be questions and conversations to stir memories. Or maybe there will just be the peace and comfort of shared presence and being away from the craziness of work for an extra day. I'm ready.
There have been things I've wanted to write about (Relay for Life; joy of working hard; a fascinating Psalm passage; getting locked out of choir practice) before and since I posted last Saturday, but I've ended up being too tired by day's end to even try. It would have been nice to have one of those rare moments where words and inspiration just come, but that didn't happen.
I know most of the reason. For the past two weeks, two key people on the reduced staff at work have been gone, one for vacation and one for medical reasons. I haven't worked all that much longer these days, but the intensity has been high. By the time I get home, I feel mentally drained. Unfortunately, rather than go to bed when I feel tired, I'm more likely to lose focus and end up watching TV, surfing the Internet or reading when the very best way to spend my time would be with my body in bed and my head on a pillow.
Now it's Memorial Day weekend. I'm so far behind, I don't even know where to start in trying to catch up at home and then also to enjoy the holiday. I guess I've started by blogging. Tomorrow, I may watch the Texas Aggies play baseball here in the Big 12 tournament. I can't even justify in my own mind why that's worth doing, but I want to do it, and I can, so I think I will. (I think I'll take a book and some paper to write on, though, in case my mind starts wandering, I start second-guessing myself, and the ideas flow!)
For some reason, that made me realize the holiday also brings up some emotional issues, involving such things as my own lack of knowledge of history and my connection to it. It's one of those times when I think there are probably things I should be doing, but again, I don't even know where to begin.
Tonight, it starts with writing and posting. Before the weekend's over, it will include some precious time spent visiting my parents and other family members. Maybe there will be questions and conversations to stir memories. Or maybe there will just be the peace and comfort of shared presence and being away from the craziness of work for an extra day. I'm ready.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
"The Spirit"
As I turned the page to November
I was grateful to take time to remember
Rich blessings of family, friendship and spirit
Sweet music of life: To hear it! To share it!
I don't know when I first wrote that (possibly mid-1990s, in a journal) or when I first used it in a published piece (I've used variations in at least 2 and maybe three or more columns in the newspaper, and once in a tribute to my parents), but it encapsulates things I'd come to recognize as driving forces to the goodness in my life.
It continues to resonate.
* The spirit is definitely God: God's love; His mercy, love, grace, graciousness, creativity, compassion, omnipotence and so many more things than I could ever write.
* It is definitely the spirit of Christ, Who gave all that I may be in relationship with God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit and all of creation.
* The spirit is family: My parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters and extended family of other relatives as well as church. It seems as if more each day, I see how their lives -- breathing (spirit) on Earth and beyond -- help me look for and find the good in my life and the lives of others.
* The spirit is friendship. I've been blessed with some great ones. (Perhaps more will be written about this later!)
* The spirit is fellowship. As hard as it is sometimes for me to write, it's usually easier for me to write than to relate directly with people. Awkward is me! And still I am loved and accepted. I need not be afraid to spend time relating with people.
* The spirit is love.
* The spirit is compassion.
* The spirit is music.
* The spirit is gratitude.
There is so much more. This post is a work in progress. (In a future post, I may touch on what "the spirit" is not, at least for me.)
Like I've said, the thing I have to remember is it doesn't even matter if I have anything worth posting. That's not the point for me, at least not for now. Maybe this will evolve into something of substance, but it doesn't matter. If people are reading this, they may think they are getting to know someone (some readers would know who I am; to others I'd just be Patricia). But it's really about a writer getting to know herself and not being afraid to let others see what she finds.
Rich blessings of family, friendship and spirit
Sweet music of life:
To hear it!
To share it!
I was grateful to take time to remember
Rich blessings of family, friendship and spirit
Sweet music of life: To hear it! To share it!
I don't know when I first wrote that (possibly mid-1990s, in a journal) or when I first used it in a published piece (I've used variations in at least 2 and maybe three or more columns in the newspaper, and once in a tribute to my parents), but it encapsulates things I'd come to recognize as driving forces to the goodness in my life.
It continues to resonate.
* The spirit is definitely God: God's love; His mercy, love, grace, graciousness, creativity, compassion, omnipotence and so many more things than I could ever write.
* It is definitely the spirit of Christ, Who gave all that I may be in relationship with God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit and all of creation.
* The spirit is family: My parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters and extended family of other relatives as well as church. It seems as if more each day, I see how their lives -- breathing (spirit) on Earth and beyond -- help me look for and find the good in my life and the lives of others.
* The spirit is friendship. I've been blessed with some great ones. (Perhaps more will be written about this later!)
* The spirit is fellowship. As hard as it is sometimes for me to write, it's usually easier for me to write than to relate directly with people. Awkward is me! And still I am loved and accepted. I need not be afraid to spend time relating with people.
* The spirit is love.
* The spirit is compassion.
* The spirit is music.
* The spirit is gratitude.
There is so much more. This post is a work in progress. (In a future post, I may touch on what "the spirit" is not, at least for me.)
Like I've said, the thing I have to remember is it doesn't even matter if I have anything worth posting. That's not the point for me, at least not for now. Maybe this will evolve into something of substance, but it doesn't matter. If people are reading this, they may think they are getting to know someone (some readers would know who I am; to others I'd just be Patricia). But it's really about a writer getting to know herself and not being afraid to let others see what she finds.
Rich blessings of family, friendship and spirit
Sweet music of life:
To hear it!
To share it!
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Welcome to my world
Tentative. Probing. Testing.
Smiling.
Anticipating.
It started with FaceBook. No, it started long before that. For as long as I can remember, I've been filled with feelings and thoughts. For many years, they were bottled inside. I guess over these past 50 years, I've realized it is important for me to SHARE and EXPRESS my thoughts and feelings. I chose journalism as a major in college by default. (I was good with words and didn't really want to be a teacher.) Largely due to my fear of change, writing and editing have become my lifelong career. They are also a passion.
Trying to meet deadlines -- and keep it short -- derailed the writing part of the career. So now the paycheck comes for copyediting, headline writing and a limited amount of page design. Even as an editor, my favorite part of the process is working on stories, talking to the people (in this case the reporter or another editor) to consider ways to make the stories the best they can be.
The urge to write never leaves. Neither does the inability to deal with deadlines and the myriad story possibilities and angles a reporter faces. That reality is confirmed every time I give in to temptation and volunteer to write a review or some other piece for the paper.
When I joined FaceBook recently to help stay in touch with family members, something about the power of written expression was rekindled within me. Framing thoughts into phrases or sentences and then posting them -- publishing them -- invigorated me. And when FaceBook friends commented .... wow!
I've had to ask myself: Is this a blessing or a curse? I've asked the question prayerfully, and so far, the answer is that it's a blessing. And so I've started what is a new adventure for me.
It's possible nothing will show up on this blog that will be of interest to anyone other than the writer.
But it's also possible something will emerge that is worth the time and thought of a reader.
I look forward to finding out.
Simple goals:
Post at least one thing each week.
Feel free to go back in and edit. (That's what I love about this so far!)
See where it leads.
Give the glory to God.
Smiling.
Anticipating.
It started with FaceBook. No, it started long before that. For as long as I can remember, I've been filled with feelings and thoughts. For many years, they were bottled inside. I guess over these past 50 years, I've realized it is important for me to SHARE and EXPRESS my thoughts and feelings. I chose journalism as a major in college by default. (I was good with words and didn't really want to be a teacher.) Largely due to my fear of change, writing and editing have become my lifelong career. They are also a passion.
Trying to meet deadlines -- and keep it short -- derailed the writing part of the career. So now the paycheck comes for copyediting, headline writing and a limited amount of page design. Even as an editor, my favorite part of the process is working on stories, talking to the people (in this case the reporter or another editor) to consider ways to make the stories the best they can be.
The urge to write never leaves. Neither does the inability to deal with deadlines and the myriad story possibilities and angles a reporter faces. That reality is confirmed every time I give in to temptation and volunteer to write a review or some other piece for the paper.
When I joined FaceBook recently to help stay in touch with family members, something about the power of written expression was rekindled within me. Framing thoughts into phrases or sentences and then posting them -- publishing them -- invigorated me. And when FaceBook friends commented .... wow!
I've had to ask myself: Is this a blessing or a curse? I've asked the question prayerfully, and so far, the answer is that it's a blessing. And so I've started what is a new adventure for me.
It's possible nothing will show up on this blog that will be of interest to anyone other than the writer.
But it's also possible something will emerge that is worth the time and thought of a reader.
I look forward to finding out.
Simple goals:
Post at least one thing each week.
Feel free to go back in and edit. (That's what I love about this so far!)
See where it leads.
Give the glory to God.
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