VALENTINE'S DAY

     Feel the magic...it is there~  

 

"Love and magic have a great deal in common. They enrich the soul, delight the heart. And they both take practice." ~Nora Roberts

THE OOPS EDITION

                                            

Egads! I got behind in my journal reading, and I missed feeling the groping, grabbing hand of a tagger. Uh huh. I did. Jodi without an "i" (I am holding her "i" hostage) tagged me. I am supposed to tell WHAT IS ON MY PLAYLIST. That is quite a chore. I have 22 bazillion playlists. I will choose the one I listen to the most while I am painting. It has too many songs to list all of them, so I will need to pare it down to about 20 or so songs here. Okay by you, Jodi WITHOUT an "i"?  

Enigma~Snow of the Sahara

Rick James~Super Freak

3 Doors Down~Away From The Sun

AC/DC~Let Me Put My Love Into You

Alter Bridge~In Loving Memory

Andrea Bocelli~Ave Maria

Audioslave~I Am The Highway

Baby Face~Bodyweak

Bach~St. Matthew Passion Finale Chorus

Beatles~Norwegian Wood

Beethoven~Fur Elise

Berlin~Sex

Big & Rich~Holy Water

Billie Holiday~Good Morning Heartache

Black Label Society~Whiter Shade of Pale (cover)

Camelot~How To Handle A Woman

Cat Stevens~Sad Lisa

Chad Kroeger~Hero

Chopin~Revolutionary Etude Vla

Chris Rea~Auberge

Cinderella~Nobody's Fool

Classical Mozart~Requiem

Coldplay~Fix You

Crazy Town~Butterfly

David Bowie~Cygnet Committee

Def Leppard~Women

::sigh:: I will stop listing. And I am not even up to the E's in my playlist. Otherwise, you would have seen Evanescence, Elton John, Eddie Money, Eminem, and on and on. I love my playlists. All of them.

But wait! I get to tag. I hope I am not too late. I tag............bON & MAL, jIMMY, LIBRAGEM, TJ, AND TAWNYA.

My daughter surprised me yesterday with a goodie she bought for me from an art store. It is a pencil sketch of Johnny Depp. Mannnnnnnn, he is a hottie. How cute is it that she saw it and knew her dear mother would drool over it?

Hubby had to work. On a Saturday. Ugh. For those who boo and hiss about how people who run companies do not do their fair share of work, I have this to say: BULLCRAPOLA. There, that felt better.

And my beloved son is plotting yet another get-rich-quick scheme. He cracks me up. Ever since he was in grade school, he has had some sort of job. His choice. He walked dogs, cut grass, raked leaves, shoveled snow, and the like. No matter what job he has, he always has side jobs, too. He has his college degree (go him!). Now, he wants to buy a house. Money matters. ::grin::

I headed over to MY mommy's house today. She did very well yesterday, and today seems to be even better. Her spirits are quite good. Yahoo!

Last nite I began my painting of the chapel doors of a large church in Chicago. I am definitely trying something new for me. I am making the painting very small. Like really small. That is the good thing about my instructor. He does not make the class follow his exact instructions. While the rest of the class' paintings will be about 14" x 20", mine is only going to be approximately 6-1/2" x 5" (which includes the doors, steps, flower beds, wrought iron fence, and tree). Should be interesting...if I don't go blind first.

And, thus concludes the mundane Saturday edition of Bedazzled's not-so-dazzling life. It does make me happy, though. ::bright smile::

"Life becomes precious and more special to us when we look for the little everyday miracles and get excited  about the privileges of simply being human." ~Tim Hansel

HOPE

                   

"A quick fix of hope is what I'm needing." ~Could It Be Any Harder by The Calling 

I love that line from the song. I love the entire song. It is about a lost love. However, that one line is appropriate for so many other situations in which we find ourselves as we stumble and run and skip and fall throughout our lives.

Hope WAS what I was needed. And I got more than just one fix of it in various ways during the past few days. Like almost everyone, I will probably be requiring yet another dose of it at some time in the future. For now? I am quite satiated.

Odd what happenings can supply the hope we require. It can arrive in the form of discovering something about ourselves that is a positive one. Or maybe an unexpected kind word spoken to us or about us. It can be in the guise of smiles directed our way.

There are also the obvious sources of hope. Good news supplies us with a great sense of hope. (So, why doesn't the media seem to embrace THAT?) Relief from worry brings with it a sense of renewal and hope. Being loved well is an all-encompassing, ongoing fount of hope. Religion and/or spirituality can surround us with the hope we seek.

We each find it in all sorts of places, ways, and people. Isn't it grand when we can actually FEEL it inside of us? There is a straightening of our shoulders, an easiness with which a smile makes its way to our lips and seems to linger there, a brighter cast to our eyes, and an inner glow that stays with us as we hustle and bustle through our days.

When Pandora's Box was opened and spilled all its ills, diseases, and woes on a previously innocent and worry-free world, do you know what the very last thing was to depart from that box?

It was HOPE.

"Hope is the dream of a soul awake." ~French Proverb

QUICK UPDATE

Who said you can't go home again? (Actually, it was Tom Wolfe.) I sure slept like a baby the two nites I stayed at Mom's house. I was back in my old bedroom that I have not slept in for twenty years. I had to smile thinking about how often I rearranged the furniture in there when I was a young girl. Then I remembered how I had glued a panda bear pajama bag to the wall to "decorate" the room. By the time Mom and Dad noticed I had done that, the glue was completely dry, and removing the pajama bag pulled off a hunk of the wall. ::laugh::

Time will tell how well Mom fares. Until then, we will keep a close eye on her and go with her to every doctor appointment. I noticed an increase in her appetite last nite, and that pleased me tremendously. We did have a good time during my stay with her. We giggled a good bit. She is so easygoing and softspoken (such a contrast to me and my personality). I told her she is my slumber party buddy now.

It felt nice to take care of her and do for her. My three sisters made sure they came over and did some cleaning and visiting with her. I was informed by Mom that I do many things very well...but making coffee is NOT one of them. I do not drink coffee, so I am virtually clueless when it comes to making it. I thought I had followed her instructions accurately, but apparently it was the worst coffee she had ever tasted. ::sigh:: One of my sisters had a cup, and she immediately pulled her shirt forward and looked down inside to see if hair had sprouted on her chest. Um, guess I made the coffee a bit strong.

Anyway, tonite Mom is going to be alone all nite. She wants to see how she does. I told her I am only a phone call away and will immediately come back over and spend the nite if she is uncomfortable on her own. Otherwise, my daily visits will be during the daylight hours.

Mom snoozed off and on during the time I was with her. I worked on a sketch while she slept, but I would sometimes stop and just look at her. She has had a lot of wonderful things happen during her life, but she certainly has had some extremely traumatic things occur, as well. The woman has an incredible ability to handle them in a way that does not leave her bitter, jaded, or unhappy. Time has been a good friend to her. Time and her own coping style. Both have made her a strong woman.

I think I want to be like her when I grow up.

"Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

SIGH

                          

My heartfelt thanks to those of you who left comments and sent emails offering up prayers and quick recovery wishes for my mother. You are quite a special group of people, indeed. My preference is to individually respond to each note I receive, but I am feeling a bit out of sorts. With that comes slacking on my part. I apologize for "lumping" my thank yous into this journal.

Before I left in the morning to pick up Mom, my tummy was doing somersaults and tears kept springing into my eyes. Lack of any sleep was not helping either of those things. Like most people, I have some terribly painful memories of hospitals. They were whipping through my mind one right after another.

When I arrived at Mom's, she greeted me with a, "Honey, I can't do this." I felt so bad for her. I assured her that she could do it and would be glad she did. She gathered up the items she wanted to take with her, since she would be spending the nite there. I filled out the medical form she was required to complete. One of my sisters then arrived, and we set off for the hospital. I was driving with my stomach caught in my throat. Gosh, I was afraid.

After the prepping was complete, the associate pastor from Mom's church joined us as we waited with Mom before being taken to the operating room. We kept everything lighthearted and upbeat. The pastor said a prayer moments before the nurses wheeled the bed to the operating room.

Now, you must understand this about me. I can be scared half out of my mind, but no one can tell by looking at or talking to me. I automatically go into joke mode. Some of the things that tumble out of my mouth shock even me at times. One simply would never begin to think I am shaking inside and wishing I could curl up somewhere and cry. Such was the case when we went to the hospital cafeteria for breakfast. Another one of my sisters had arrived by then, and we were waiting for the last one while we ate.

I was naughty. I told naughty jokes (uh huh, the pastor was with us during this), and I was able to get the pastor laughing a lot. There was serious conversation, too, and I certainly was able to focus on that and not be a fool. Side note: The pastor said if I ever write a book, she wants the first copy.

We went back to the waiting room. The receptionist took us to a little room to wait for the surgeon to come talk to us. He was a nice man, but his words rattled us to the core. The pacemaker procedure had gone well. No concerns there. But, he began to throw out a lot of things we were not prepared to hear. Additional procedures might need to be performed. Instead of Mom being able to discard any of her current mediations, she may need to take more. He is not sure the pacemaker will help stop the breathlessness she has been experiencing. He cannot say whether or not her leaking heart valve is contributing to that. He was extremely "iffy" about almost everything. And the four of us girls asked our questions with faces that surely reflected our growing concern.

We did not have a long wait before we were taken to see Mom in the recovery room. She looked beautiful. She was alert, and just her tiny face was peeking out from beneath the soft white blanket. She was pleasant. We did not know what the doctor had told her, so we were careful mentioning what he said to us. When Mom spoke about hopefully being able to get rid of some of her meds, we girls flashed brief glances toward one another. I then asked Mom what the doctor had to say to her afterward. Apparently, it was all limited to the implantation of the pacemaker. My stomach lurched. She has no idea what will be taking place within the next month or so. I thought I was going to cry. Instead, I made a joke that had two of my sisters laughing so hard they thought they were going to wet themselves. It is the only way I know how to cope.

Mom was taken to her private room, and we followed her there. After she was safely nestled in the bed and I had turned on the TV for her, I smooched her, and I left. I was sick inside. I was rattled and full of a million questions that I planned on writing down and asking her doctor.

After some phone calls to her friends, I climbed onto the couch and fell asleep. I had dreams. Bad ones.

Mom is being released sometime on Tuesday. I am going to skip my evening art class and go to her house and spend the nite with her. I do not want her to be alone, and she wants to sleep in her own bed rather than be at someone else's house. I will bring along my sketch pad and a book.

And I will wait on her hand and foot for the next few days. She deserves that.

"The mother's heart is the child's schoolroom." ~Henry Ward Beecher

SPECIAL HANDS (REPOST May 6, 2005)

The timing is perfect for me to repost this entry from my old journal. I will be taking Mom to the hospital at 5:30 a.m. on Monday so the doctors can "mend" her broken heart. Chris had asked me to post it when I told her I had written about the same subject she had. We decided that great minds think alike. ::smile::

 

Friday, May 6, 2005
2:42:00 AM EDT
Feeling Quiet
Hearing Fur Elise~Beethoven

Aren't these the loveliest hands? They are wonderful hands. They have been involved in much working, caring, and loving. Everyone should be blessed to have hands such as these. Look at them closely...see all they have done.

These hands cradled four little baby girls and consoled, encouraged, and loved them as they grew. They changed diapers and dressed squirming bodies. They bathed one right after the other and washed hair. They held onto tiny hands in stores, crossing streets, and in busy parking lots. They tried to give the occasional well-deserved swat, but they failed in producing any sting in the recipient. They combed hair and sewed clothing and cleaned messy rooms. They clapped at all performances those little girls were in and continue to applaud the grandchildren. They wiped away tears and held Kleenex to runny noses. They baked birthday cakes and cupcakes. They cooked three meals a day and numerous snacks.

These gentle hands decorated a beautiful home. They pushed a vacuum and broom, scrubbed floors, washed windows, painted walls, cleaned bathrooms,and did boatloads of laundry. They planted flowers outside and tended to indoor plants. They took dogs on walks, fed the cats, and filled the bird feeders. They held newspapers, magazines, and books. They still prepare the most fabulous meals and lay out a lovely table with each place set just so...and create centerpieces that will draw compliments from the diners.

They played a shrewd game of bridge. They were at their finest, though, playing the piano. These very fingers can glide up and down the piano keyboard in a blur playing boogie woogie, show tunes, jazz, and classical music. They can create music that resonates throughout the house and gives the listener a feeling of peace, joy, a desire to dance, or a sense of wonderment. They are the instruments for displaying the musical gift the owner of them possesses.

These hands have accomplished so much. They tenderly cared for a beloved husband during grueling years of frightening and sad times. They caressed the cheek and held the hands of that man. Their touch to his hands could restore his rapid, erratic heart rhythm to a normal pace. They helped feed him, turn the pages of a newspaper for him, lay out clothing for him to wear. Those fingers soothingly ran through his thick head of hair to tidy it or just to bring comfort to him. They gave him love.

Oh, yes. These are definitely some of the most beautiful hands I have ever seen. They are gifted hands. There is a little finger that curves at a bit of an odd angle~the result of a back operation many, many years ago. It is numb, but it can move. The other fingers are twisted or turned due to the arthritis which insinuated its way into them countless years ago. The knots at the wrists create much pain and sometimes restrict movement. Time has added some spots to the flesh. But, are these not still the same hands they once were? Do the imperfections take away from the beauty these hands have created? Not at all. The loveliness of the hands is in what they have done, how they have touched countless people in ways that are forever to be remembered.

These gnarled fingers will always...for all of time...be beautiful to me. They are the splendid hands of my mother.

"Flowers leave a part of their fragrance in the hands that bestow them." ~Proverb

I'LL FIGURE IT OUT!

             

"I am not your rolling wheels; I am the highway

I am not your carpet ride; I am the sky

I am not your blowing wind; I am the lightning

I am not your autumn moon; I am the night"

Those lyrics are stuck in my head (along with the rest of the song). They have been for days. It is not some catchy jingle that infiltrates your brain and refuses to exit even though you desperately want it to leave. No, those words are welcome to stay. I think about them. What they mean. Certainly Audioslave had a specific thought they wished to convey when they wrote the song. I could probably perform a web search and find out the answer. But, I am pretty sure I would rather decide for myself what they mean. My own interpretation. Whatever feelings they stir within me are what matter.

Have you ever really loved a particular poem or song and assigned it a special meaning, then later found out what the writer was thinking when he/she penned it? And when that happened, was it almost a complete 180° from your own perception? I hate when that occurs. The magic of it is often ruined for me.

When I am extremely perplexed, sometimes I do like to know the general theme. It can get my frame of mind in place to read or listen with that theme hovering nearby. It can help me absorb the words and perhaps reach an even deeper level of understanding from them.

It is not unlike a painting in some ways. If the artist HAS to tell you what the picture is all about, then he has failed through the use of his paints to express it adequately.

And so, I will continue pondering...although I think I have a pretty solid handle on the meaning of that song. Go me!

"Pearls and swine bereft of me
Long and weary my road has been
I was lost in the cities
Alone in the hills
No sorrow or pity for leaving I feel

Chorus
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky

Friends and liars don’t wait for me
I’ll get on all by myself
I put millions of miles
Under my heels
And still too close to you
I feel

Chorus
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightning
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night
The night

I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightning
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night
The night" ~I Am The Highway by Audioslave