AUTUMN & ATTEMPTS

The fall colors have finally arrived here, two weeks past what is the norm for this part of the country. This next week will see them at their peak. I do not know how anyone cannot appreciate the beauty that autumn brings.

It was on our way out into the country for the chili cook-off that I took in the flaming colors. Countless times on the drive I pointed out this tree and that one to hubby. Goodness, it was incredible. And to top it off by having an absolutely hysterically fun time at the gathering made it a perfect day in all ways.

I visit some journals of those who are artists. Real artists. Talented ones. I am in awe of their creations. Different styles, different mediums, different subjects. It is a treat for me to look at the works they produce. Sometimes, it gives me a feel for each person's personality.

The above painting is one of mine. ::laugh:: I felt it was perfect for this entry because the colors I saw today were some of the same ones in my painting. I am NOT a real artist. My talent is limited. But you know what? The effort is there. The willingness to try to push myself, so one day I might be able to feel like I am REALLY an artist. If that day does not ever arrive? It does not matter. I have the satisfaction of knowing I made the attempt. I did not quit before I started. I did not say, "I cannot do this, so I will not try." Nor will I have tried once or twice and given up.

To me, that is what matters the most...the attempt. How do people know with certainty they cannot do certain things if they have never tried them? I would rather try and fail than not try at all. It is a personal challenge when I take on something new. I am testing myself. And I like it. I have surprised myself in the past during these challenges. I discovered that I CAN reupholster furniture without having the faintest clue beforehand how to do it. I found that I do a pretty bang-up job of restoring antiques without any real knowledge of the "correct" way it is done. I even found I could design a playhouse that is a replica of a real house AND help build it. I do a mighty fine job of putting on siding, too!

Without attempts, we are resigned to staying in a safe zone. It is fun to slip outside of that cushioned zone and see what I am made of. ::smile:: I think I like my substance.

"In some attempts, it is glorious even to fail." ~Anonymous

THE CHILI COOK-OFF

                                

Saturday we are going to what has become an annual event. A chili cook-off. We have always had such fun, so it is a given we will attend every year.

The place where it is held is very nice. There is a lake with some canoes available for those who wish to test their rowing prowess. Fishing poles are available for anyone interested in trying their luck catching the underwater creatures. The weather is always very cool here at this time of year, so swimming is not an option. Bonfires (aside from the ones raging from the rectums of the guests) are kept blazing to keep everyone warm.

A lovely and large pavilion holds numerous tables and chairs. AND it is where the contestants place their giant pots of chili for the judging. Numerous other food items are on the food tables, ensuring everyone will have plenty to eat.

The judges take their duty quite seriously! I have listened to them discussing in extreme detail the pros and cons of each batch of chili presented for their consideration. Hubby and I won one year. That was funny. I was not expecting it, and I was barely paying attention when the announcement was made. I had to be prodded to stand up.

The absolute best part of the whole event? The people who are there. The host and hostess are the warmest, friendliest, and most enjoyable two people you could ever want to be around. Their humor is excellent. The guests are crazy and fun. It is definitely a good time, and laughter is in abundance. We all need to have that in our lives.

Many jokes are made about it being a CHILI competition. Let me clarify one thing. MEN are the ones who seem to have problems handling the effects of chili on the body. ::chuckle:: Maybe we women are just a little classier about it...or we have bodies better equipped to deal with beans. Whichever it may be, I am pretty certain hubby will not have the pleasure of my naked body next to him in bed tomorrow nite.

There is a joke about a chili cook off that has long cracked me up. The hostess of this event sent it to me a few years ago, and I laughed so hard I cried. I will post it here. Do read it. It is highly amusing. And have a superb weekend, everyone!

                          The Chili Cook-off (PG)

Notes from an inexperienced chili taster named Frank:

"Recently I was honored to be selected as an Outstanding
Famous Celebrity in Texas, to be a judge at a chili cook-off because no one else wanted to do it. Also the original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking directions to the beer wagon when the call came. I was assured by the other two judges that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy, and besides they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted this as being one of those burdens you endure when you're an internet writer and therefore known and adored by all."

Here are the scorecards from the event:

* Chili # 1: Mike's Maniac Mobster Monster Chili

JUDGE ONE: A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick.
JUDGE TWO: Nice, smooth tomato flavor Very mild. FRANK: Holy smokes, what is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway with it. Took me two beers to put the flames out. Hope that's the worst one. These people are crazy.

* Chili # 2: Arthur's Afterburner Chili

JUDGE ONE: Smoky (barbecue?) with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang. JUDGE TWO: Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously. FRANK: Keep this out of reach of children! I'm not sure what I am supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. Shoved my way to the front of the beer line. The barmaid looks like a professional wrestler after a bad night. She was so irritated over my gagging sounds that the snake tattoo under her eye started to twitch. She has arms like Popeye and a face like Winston Churchill. I will NOT pick a fight with her.

* Chili # 3: Fred's Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili

JUDGE ONE: Excellent firehouse chili! Great kick. Needs more beans. JUDGE TWO: A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of red peppers. FRANK: This has got to be a joke. Call the EPA, I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been sneezing Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now and got out of my way so I could make it to the beer wagon. Barmaid pounded me on the back; now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. She said her friends call her "Sally." Probably behind her back they call her "Forklift."

* Chili # 4: Bubba's Black Magic

JUDGE ONE: Black bean chili with almost no spice.
Disappointing. JUDGE TWO: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili. FRANK: I felt something scraping across my tongue but was unable to taste it. Sally was standing behind me with fresh refills so I wouldn't have to dash over to see her. When she winked at me her snake sort of coiled and uncoiled...it's kinda cute.

* Chili # 5: Linda's Legal Lip Remover

JUDGE ONE: Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly
ground adding considerable kick. Very impressive. JUDGE TWO: Chili using shredded beef; could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement. FRANK: My ears are ringing and I can no longer focus my eyes. I belched and four people in front of me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed hurt when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. Sort of irritates me that one of the other judges asked me to stop screaming.

* Chili # 6: Vera's Very Vegetarian Variety

JUDGE ONE: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good
balance of spice and peppers. JUDGE TWO: The best yet.
Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb.
FRANK: My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with
gaseous flames. No one seems inclined to stand behind me
except Sally. I asked if she wants to go dancing later.

* Chili # 7: Susan's Screaming Sensation Chili

JUDGE ONE: A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers. JUDGE TWO: Ho Hum, tastes as if the chef threw in canned chili peppers at the last moment. I should note that I am worried about Judge Number 3, he appears to be in a bit of distress. FRANK: You could put a hand grenade in my mouth and pull the pin and I wouldn't feel it. I've lost the sight in one eye and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My clothes are covered with chili which slid unnoticed out of my mouth at some point. Good, at autopsy they'll know what killed me. Go Sally, save yourself before it's too late. Tell our children I'm sorry I was not there to conceive them. I've decided to stop breathing, it's too painful and I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air I'll just let it in through the hole in my stomach. Call the X-Files people and tell them I've found a super nova on my tongue.

* Chili # 8: Helen's Mount Saint Chili

JUDGE ONE: This final entry is a good, balanced chili,
neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost
when Judge Number 3 fell and pulled the chili pot on top of himself. JUDGE TWO: A perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili, safe for all, not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence. FRANK: Momma??!!

 Jesse James (1847-1882) refused to rob a bank in McKinney, Texas, because that is where his favorite chili parlor was located.

BODIES

         

I think my husband is shrinking. People do tend to do that as they get older. Problem is he is not of an age when it should be happening. When we attended the wedding on Saturday, I had on high heels, which put me at 5' 11". I could have sworn I was taller than him. I felt like I was looking down to make eye contact with him. Several people there assured me he was definitely taller than me. Okay, I took their word for it.

But I still think he is getting littler. He has been on a fitness kick for quite a long time now. He works out religiously and regularly. The man leaves the house at around 5:30 a.m. to go to a jazzercise class. I call it compression class. I think it is compressing his body until soon he will be so small that traveling inside my purse will be an option for him. He never seemed to be shorter until he started taking that class.

His buddy was taking it with him until he hurt his hip. Now it is hubby and a bunch of women bouncing and kicking. I feel sure the women fuss all over him. Just as I feel certain he loves the attention he receives. He gave the instructor a Christmas present last year. ::chuckle:: She was so pleased. Uh huh, I bet she was.

I tease him a lot about that class. I wouldn't dare tell him I think it is darling the women enjoy having him there. I like him thinking that perhaps I am a wee bit jealous of his dwindling body being surrounded by women who are toned and wearing tight garments. He has suggested I take the class WITH him. That will not be happening. I am not in a mood to do any dancing except the horizontal tango at that hour of the morning.

He has always had a terrific bottom. Back when we were dating, I told him what a fine rear end he had. He seemed surprised. Through all the years of our marriage, it has remained perfect. It is firming up even more due to compression class. His legs are another story. I was in LOVE with his legs from the first time I saw them. They had the perfect shape. Excellent toned legs. Oooo, I liked looking at them and touching them. Now, I call him Stick Legs. Yep, they are getting thinner since he embarked on this exercise regime. He does not see it, but I do. They are still nicely shaped. They are most certainly muscular. They are just getting skinny, and I want that to stop!

He also runs. Not every single day. More on occasion. He lifts weights, too. The guy is in good shape. I have to say I am not so bad myself. I do not have any problems with my weight, and I think my body is well-proportioned with nice features. But if hubby keeps on wasting away, we are going to look like one of those couples you see at the fair. You know the ones. The husband weighs 12 lbs., and the wife looks massive in comparison. Egads. Then we will have to wear t-shirts that read, "I'm His" and "I'm Hers"..........

"To keep the body in good health is a duty...otherwise we shall not be able to keep our mind strong and clear." ~Buddha

THE WEDDING

  Well, I recovered beautifully from my near-fatal bout with the imaginary flu, so I was able to attend a wedding on Saturday. Hubby, the kids, and I went. We had a very good time. And as I always do during and after going to any social event, I think about everything that took place.

I have to admit I was relieved that the actual wedding ceremony was only a half hour in length. God might smite me for being this way, but I really dislike long weddings. My attention span is minimal at best, which means anything over a half hour is totally lost on me. I end up scoping out every aspect of the church, the guests, and anything else that somehow distracts me. Granted, the wedding IS supposed to be for the benefit of the bride and groom and to their liking...not mine. It just helps when it is to the point and not filled with a bunch of secular jargon that anyone not of that particular faith can possibly understand. This wedding was perfect for me! No crying kids who were bored...no coughing and clearing of the throat...no shuffling around in the pews. Seems everyone appreciated listening to and watching the vows being exchanged. As we come to expect at most weddings, the bride and groom looked radiant, and the wedding party lovely and handsome.

The reception immediately followed the ceremony and was held at a hotel. It was a dinner and dance reception. Excellent! The decorations were very tasteful, and the proceedings of the reception were extremely well-organized. Bonus points for that. The food was killer good, and I told the gentleman carving the roast beef that he was my new best friend for the healthy portion of meat he laid on my plate. I won't mention that I practically salivated all over that huge hunk of meat his knife was slicing and that I gave the dude my wide-eyed, pleading puppy dog look to encourage him to give me a nice serving. I am not sure why I do that...I can never eat large portions of food. I get full too fast, and I waste far more than I eat. Oh well. Maybe it has something to do with feeling like I have a way with meat men. ::wicked grin::

Throughout the reception, we danced, drank (I avoided alcohol except for the obligatory champagne toasts), and laughed a lot. I also did my critiquing of the event. I like watching people. When folks are unaware they are being studied, they behave more like themselves. THAT'S what I want to see. Except for one young chick who was in her twenties, overly impressed with herself, and I feel certain believes she hung the moon and the stars ::eyeroll::, there was not a single guest who was unpleasant. (I caught her giving some obnoxious and scathing looks to other young ladies and women who were either attractive, had the attention of others, or in some way must have stolen the much-deserved limelight she felt she deserved. Never mind that she was not the bride nor even a member of the bridal party. My tolerance for people like that falls into the zero, zip, nil category.)

My daughter danced, and she wished our son would join her on the dance floor. He would not. That was simply not going to happen. When I told him that at his own wedding he was going to HAVE to dance, his response was, "This I know." He makes me laugh. Rhythm was denied him from birth. The God of Dance must have sneezed at the time of his conception, because the gorgeous boy of mine cannot get those feet or limbs to react to the music. My daughter on the other hand has ALL of the rhythm. I could watch her move and groove for hours. Matters not what type of music is playing, she can easily and effortlessly find the rhythm and her body instinctively moves to it. Guys have to love when she shakes her groove thing. I think the time has arrived for me to seal her up in a tower away from the gropes of said young men. She is ripe for the picking, and it has me nervous. Ah, my dear husband. He is not shy about dancing. He follows the beat well, and he does not look like a doofus on the floor. At least not to me. Our daughter informed him he looked like a "dork" when he dances. I burst into hysterics when she said that. Hubby took it like a real trooper. She has since revised his "dork" status to now be that he is "not that bad" and he "dances better than most parents do." His response to her was, "I feel so much better now." I was cracking up.

It was interesting. The mother and father of the groom have not spoken to each other in nine years. Need I say their divorce was acrimonious? After quite a battle, the father received full custody of the two children when they were very young. The mother, for whatever reasons she may have had, was not a part of their early years. As the boys grew older, they did have the desire to visit their mother occasionally. She had remarried and had children. But the boys always wished to remain with their father (who is a very close friend of ours). I watched with interest how he would behave having to spend so much time around his ex. He earned my admiration. No one would have been able to detect all the bitterness that surrounded their relationship. He sat with me for a bit late in the evening, and I complimented him on the way he handled such an awkward situation. He told me he did it for his son. And isn't that the way it should be? Too bad more parents who find themselves in similar predicaments cannot call up the necessary class to do the right thing for the sake of their children.

Everyone looked so tremendously happy all evening long. It is usually that way at weddings. A joyous occasion that has a trickle down effect on each one of the guests. The long-time married couples hold hands and sneak in smooches. Those who have been together only a few years, snuggle closer and recall their own weddings. The families of the bride and groom beam. The very young children remain hopelessly clueless and just deem the event another place to have fun. Maybe those who are struggling day-to-day in their own relationships or just with life can, for at least a short time, forget about their problems. There was not an unhappy face among all the guests.

I watched the interactions between the bride and groom. I saw such hope, so much love, and a "look" in the faces of the couple. I wish them the happiest of times, yet I know the way will sometimes be paved with obstacles. I hope they will be able to always keep a large part of what they felt toward one another yesterday. We can never tell how lives will twist and turn over time. And maybe after many years the relationship will have changed dramatically~and not necessarily in ways we wish. But there is usually some magic in marriages and long-term relationships...if we truly want to find it.

"Love is friendship set to music." ~Channing Pollock    

BRRR

               

The house was cold this evening. Very cold. I had spent a good chunk of the day out and about, so I knew the temperatures here had dropped significantly. I was fine with that. I very much enjoy weather that is cool or downright frigid when I am dressed right for it. I was in and out of my car quite content with the drop in degrees.

Arriving home, I took care of a few things before deciding to curl up on the couch and take a nap before hubby was due home from an evening of choir practice. I fell into a deep sleep, complete with dreams. When I awoke, the house was silent except for the sound of a heavy rain beating down on the roof and tapping at the windows. It was actually comforting in its own way.

I was cold and moving around did not seem to take the chill out of my bones. No doubt from the combination of the low temperature and rain. I came here into this study to warm myself (this room seems to remain a bit warmer than the rest of the house). I closed the door and got situated here at the computer. While reading my mail, I noted I was not getting any warmer at all. I toyed with the idea of getting the fireplace blazing, but I knew hubby would give me an eyeroll when he got home (and strip down to only his underwear to make a point that I had gotten the house too hot). As the minutes passed and I continued to shiver, I finally came to the conclusion I was going to have to turn on the furnace. Enough was enough, and I was uncomfortable. I shivered my way to the living room and flipped on the furnace knowing within a short time I would feel its effect.

Back to the study I went to await the loving caress of warmth. Instead I steadily grew colder and colder. My hands were freezing, my body was literally hunched into a protective ball on this chair, and I was ticked off. Wait! I had not had dinner yet. THAT must be why I felt so puny. I prepared my meal, shaking the entire time. Since I was alone and frigid, I brought my meal in here to eat it. No go. I ate all of it and was feeling even colder than before I began. (No, I did not have ice cream fordinner.)

Then my mind went into overdrive. It was becoming all too clear that I had developed a fever. Yes, I must certainly be in the early throes of the flu. Don't I always shiver and shake when I have a fever? Yep. I was very upset with this new knowledge. We have a wedding to go to on Saturday that I am looking forward to attending. How can I go if I have the creeping crud? I thought maybe if I eat lots of soup and say lots and lots of prayers, throw in some extra vitamins, and stay inside all day Friday, that I will be nice and healthy come Saturday.

::sigh:: What a miserable way to begin the weekend, I thought. My immediate concern was to somehow warm up myself. The only way I could think to do it was to reallllllly crank up the heater and to heck with the wrath of my always overheated hubby. I scampered back to the living room to adjust the temperature controls. Hmmm. Something did not look right...

Oops. I had earlier inadvertently turned on the air conditioner instead of the heater. Duh. I made the switch and now I feel much better. Well, except that my stupidity attack has me questioning my I.Q.

"No matter what you do, no matter how stupid, dumb, or damaging you judge it to be, there is a lesson to be learned from it. No matter what happens to you, no matter how unfair, inequitable or wrong, there's something you can take from the situation and use for your advancement." ~Peter McWilliams

TOO SOON

     

Sometimes I have a strong need to take in anything that is beautiful~regardless of the format in which that beauty is displayed. It is then that my mind can play with and examine what I am seeing or reading, causing it to be calmed or excited or deeply moved during that time. Recently, I found such exquisite beauty that pleased my eyes, heart, and mind. I was certainly not unaware of this person's incredible ability to create glorious beauty, but I did not know the full extent of it. And this is what I saw:

An inability to pass theology exams prevented him from becoming an ordained minister. He turned his sights to becoming an artist, but sold only one painting during his life. Failure and mental instability marked his personal world.

That short biography applies to more than a few artists, doesn't it? If I throw in that he sliced off his earlobe with a razor blade during an argument with Paul Gaugin, does that help you determine the artist's name with absoluteness? If I say that his death was a suicide believed to be the result of his awareness that his mental disorder was never going to improve, would that have further narrowed it down? I am willing to bet if I said his most famous painting is The Starry Night, immediately you would know I am referring to Vincent Van Gogh. And that is correct.

Mention Van Gogh, and the majority of people will automatically think of these three things:  suicide, cutting off his earlobe, and The Starry Night. Ah, but there is so very much more to the man than those three things. In fact, I think he was a brilliant person AND soul. Aside from the fabulous artwork he created, the influence his work had on the art world, and the fame he ultimately received after his death, he was an outstanding thinker. That mind of his which was horribly tormented by an unidentified mental illness is still the subject of debate. What exactly did he suffer from that tortured him so? The latest theory I heard is that the paints he used contained materials that were detrimental to his brain. Whatever the exact illness, he surely had some monumental struggles to keep his sanity.

Such a shame. The man's artistic talent is unquestionable. He had the ability to grow with his art. He changed his styles, colors, techniques. I saw two of his paintings at the Chicago Art Institute. Had his name not been on each of the paintings, I would never have guessed he created both of them. (One painting was Montmartre, the other The Bedroom.) He was willing to experiment with his paintings, and it shows.

What impacts me with unusual intensity is his wisdom. He seemed so in tune with himself and with people in general. Here was a man who had debilitating periods of depressions that alternated with astounding periods of massive energy, yet his thoughts about people and feelings and the world are brilliant, in my opinion. He was a mere 37 at the time of his death, but he was able to "see" things some who live to be 100 never do see. He was an old soul in the body of a young man. Tormented until that beautiful soul was released.

There is nothing more I can possibly say about him except it is worth your time to explore the artwork he created and the words he penned. Maybe you will find he stirs something within you that lingers long afterward. I will end this with some quotes attributed to him that touch me and have me believing the world lost a very, very important person far too soon.

               

October Artsy Essay

Judith Heartsong's October Artsy Essay contest has begun. This month she asks the entrants to write about the following, "The one thing I would most like you to know about me..." This is my entry.

I am a sad little sprite buried deep inside the body of a grown woman. I did not ask to reside within her, nor did she invite me. Circumstances dictated it. It has been a little over three-and-a-half years that this has been my home. We have a tentative relationship. Although most of the time she prefers not to acknowledge my presence, she is not angry at all that this is where I dwell. There are times she will embrace me and listen to what I have to say. She wants me to open up and let flow my sorrowful feelings. It is then she will weep along with me. Other times she is cold to me. She deliberately ignores my soft voice begging for her to hold me and quell my feelings of helpless sadness. I know her intention is not to be cruel. I understand she is wearing a facade necessary for her own sake. She cannot always allow the people around her to know I still take up residence inside her. She is keenly aware that there are those who would snicker at her inability to be rid of me. They may even lecture her for not being tougher and having the spine to throw me out. So, she protects herself with her outward appearance of a smiling face. She thinks I will leave when I am able and not a moment sooner.

 

She takes good care of me and sees to it that I am well nourished, both physically and intellectually. She makes sure we go to nice places, enjoy the company of friends and family, and always have many activities in which to participate. She likes to laugh a great deal, and she appreciates the humor others have. She has a delightfully playful side to her that sometimes causes people to be taken aback by the bluntness of her humor. I find that on occasion she can make me forget my sorrow and pleasantly surprised that for that brief period of time I, too, am laughing. Those are the times I am deeply aware of how she tries to see to it that those around her are smiling and feeling happy.

 

She is a sensual creature, and finds that many people are, also. They just seem afraid to explore that side of themselves. She nudges them along with her candid remarks and topics of conversation. It does not take long before the previously reluctant folks begin to join in and share their sensuality. She is an insatiable learner. Her natural curiosity lends itself well with her desire to constantly learn. She will research anything unfamiliar to her and attempt anything possible. Like a small child, she is pleased when she has found the information she was seeking or is successful in completing a previously untried task.

 

I sit inside her and admire some of the things she does. She pushes herself to do the best she possibly can, never willing to settle for anything less than what she is capable of doing. She is a compassionate individual and can easily get caught up in the pain of others and tries valiantly to ease their suffering. Oh, but she can be strong and may ruffle some feathers in the process. She does not like when that occurs, but she knows that not all people have the best interest of others at heart. It is then that she will let the feathers fly. Self-preservation kicks in, and she will not surround herself with those who cannot appreciate all she has to offer. It pains her to have to show her strength that way, but it is the only way she knows how to stop the damage some may wish to inflict on her self-esteem. And heaven help anyone who dares to do wrong to her family! She is truly a tigress when it comes to them.

It is because of her family that she and I became acquainted. She had a childhood that in most ways resembled a fairy tale. Two parents who loved one another and three sisters. She was always the wild child in the family~a free spirit whose personality contrasted markedly with those of her sisters. Her parents' friends would laugh and call her a "pistol" or say that she was the "different" one of the four girls. They were right. She went through her childhood years blissfully going along her merry way. She knew her parents loved her fiercely, and she loved them just as intensely.

When she grew up, she married a fine man, and together they had a son and daughter. Those years were difficult for her in one way. Her husband loved her, but he seemed incapable of being nice to her. His kindness was expended on everyone but her. He was a superior parent and a subpar husband. For many years she pushed the hurt of his actions to the back of her mind and reveled in being a mother. She loved her husband, but she did not like the way he treated her. She had the love of her children, her sisters, her friends, and her parents. That was enough for her. She was particularly close to her parents. They were her best friends.

Her father was her stability, her rock, the source of unconditional love for her. Not a soul knew the sadness her marriage brought her. She did not want to tell anyone. No one guessed, either. They saw a woman happily immersed in the joy of raising children and being involved in their activities and school life. She glowed because of them. When those moments of self-doubt crept into her, it was her father who hoisted her confidence. He had an uncanny ability to say the right things at the right times. His love for her was evident in everything he did. He could keep her in line, too! He was the only person on the face of the earth who could come even close to understanding her. She felt so lucky and blessed to have the life she did, even with the strain of a marriage that was not how she had always envisioned a marriage should be.

Then tragedy befell her father. He almost lost his life when an aneurysm in his brain ruptured. He had the necessary surgery, but he was left severely disabled. Her heart was shattered and her life upended. This caused her to throw herself into helping care for him and helping him feel like he still had worth as a human being. She spent every possible moment she could each day with him. Fortunately, his personality remained much the same as before his illness. Unfortunately, he was not always able to communicate. It fluctuated, as did his health, on a constant basis. And so for almost six years, she hustled and bustled to tend to every need of her children and husband, never missing any of their functions but also sure not to miss her daily time with her father. A tiny miracle occurred then. Her husband began to change. The shock of what happened to her father seemed to shake him up, and he realized the treatment he had given her for years and years was ugly. He began to appreciate her value, and he grew kind toward her. More loving, more thoughtful. In the meantime, she ran herself ragged taking care of all that needed to be tended.

She found visiting the nursing home where her father lived became something of an oasis for her. Whether or not her father could speak did not matter. She had his hand to hold, his brow to soothe, and his presence to absorb. She talked a lot to him during most visits. She shared anything and everything to keep his mind alert. On those days when he could speak and was not further hindered by yet another new illness, his wickedly wonderful wit had her doubled over with laughter. There were the many days filled with poignant moments. Always hovering nearby was the frailty and uncertainty of his life. Countless times he faced death, and he managed to defy it.

It was on a Sunday when he took his final breath. The proud man who had endured such brutal indignities because of that aneurysm gave up his long-fought battle to remain here on earth. She lovingly and tenderly closed his lifeless eyes before leaving his room to get the nurses. It was at that very moment that I came to live inside of her.

I am here with her to assist her. She does not think she needs any help from me. She has a fabulous and adoring husband who lavishes his love on her, two of the most cherished and goodhearted children anyone could have, the sweetest loving mother, three sisters she is proud of and whose company she enjoys immensely, three brothers-in-law who are wonderful, many nieces and nephews who warm her heart, all of the good and decent relatives on her husband's side of the family, and her treasured friends. She cannot understand why I am present. If she genuinely wants to know, she will learn. I am here to replace that part of her that left when her father died. I am the grief she does not want to express. I am her reminder that she has unfinished business needing tended. I am here to make her cry and release her pain. I am here to tell her it is okay to feel. And I am here until she knows that she is strong enough to allow herself to be weak for however long it takes until that empty place fills in once again. I am here for her.