Me, Too...What Kind of Fool Am I?

Right now, women and men all over the world are saying "Me, too," in solidarity of abuse and harassment they've suffered. Some are quick to ask, "Why did you wait so long to say anything?" I think I can answer that.

There is a huge portion of shame associated with being assaulted which is often compounded by a sense of guilt for letting it happen and for putting ourselves in a position to be vulnerable. And then, sometimes women make foolish choices about trust issues.

You may not guess it to look at me now but I was once a number. In fact, that was a bit of a problem everywhere I ever worked. For example, that boss at a Fortune 500 company that invited me to join him for dinner. He was on temporary assignment from South Africa and didn't know anybody in town. He explained, "You have to eat something. So do I. Why don't we have a meal together?" He'd been kind enough to let me use the Watts line - a free long distance service before cell phones - to phone my boyfriend in another state. We talked on the phone for an hour nearly every night after the other office workers went home.

That night, as we headed out to our first meal together, my boss said he needed to drop by his motel to pick up his jacket. It was a frightfully cold night and he said, "Come on up. Don't sit out here in the car, freezing your you know what off." So I did. That's when he pounced against my protests of "NO!" and threw me on the bed. I told him clearly it would NOT be consensual if he continued.The next day at work he let me know that I would advance no further in my role at the workplace unless I went out with him again. I quit my job. Try explaining your "reasons for leaving the last job" at your next job interview. Not happening.

Another time, I was on a date with a pilot whom I'd met through a mutual friend while I was working as a flight attendant. We went out on a pleasant adventure to the brand new Playboy Club in town where he paid me a lot of attention and showed me off to his friends. We had fun and said goodnight as he dropped me at my apartment door. The next time he called, he invited me over to his apartment for steaks and a home cooked meal. After we spent our post dinner time at the community pool and hot tub we returned to his apartment to change into dry clothes. That's when he decided to throw me down on the carpet and jump on top of me. My protests were ignored. Besides, who was I going to tell? I had willingly set myself up for this, or so I thought.

Perhaps the most significant breach of protocol happened when I was still in high school and my teacher decided to give me some after school tutoring and unsolicited attention. I was only sixteen at the time, vulnerable to the angst of teenage depression. We skipped school one day, met at a local university parking lot and drove ninety minutes to another town.There, he took me to the woods and taught me to shoot a rifle after which we went to a local eatery where he ordered me a whiskey sour, my first taste of liquor. On a blanket at the beach afterward, I thwarted his advances and luckily, he respected my wishes. The next week I dropped his class and signed up for Advanced Home Economics instead. Still, he stalked me in the halls and I wasn't the only one.

I could go on and on. After all, I lived and worked through the seventies, where innuendos, groping and butt slapping in the workplace were common events. No play, no pay. What astounds me now is the vast number of other women (and men) coming forward to admit the same things have happened to them. Why didn't I tell someone? Who would have believed me?

The Carriage Driver3 - by Michael Friedman, Book Review

Have you ever wondered what Heaven would be like? With this latest release of The Carriage Driver3 series of stories the realm of possibilities continues. If we're to be presented with an eternity to live out our dreams what venue would you choose?

These “narratives of reassurance” as described by author, Michael Friedman, provide a glimpse into the possibilities of the afterlife. When a loved one passes we begin to understand the importance of making the most out of our short time here on this earthly plane. For those who exhibit a spirit of love and caring during their lives, there awaits a better place, that is, if you believe. But why wouldn't you? Is the alternative more appealing? For those who do believe, the stories fill our imaginations with settings that will enchant and uplift the reader.

The book begins with a story about a guy with a dog called Zoey. For those of us who love our pets we find ourselves wondering what will happen to them after we depart. This tale gives a sense of peace and fulfillment that all will be well with the creatures we leave behind.

There’s a tale about bejeweled Papa Joe who waited for Dottie who lived in an enchanting house with a wrap-around front porch. His self-assured promises were put to the test when Dottie’s name appeared in “the book.”

Those familiar with Goth or Emo can relate to the story about Lisa who distanced herself from her peers in an effort to pull “the cloak of fear” about her. She's comforted by the oracles that take her under their wings and render aid along with a heavy dose of much-needed healing.

My favorite characters in these twenty-seven stories have a strange resemblance to people I've actually known. Through these stories we meet Nichole, Ann, Magruder, Betty Lou, John, Annie, Paula; professors, farmers, hippies, pilots and soldiers, children, mothers, brothers and blue-bellied warriors. Some have seen nearly a century of life, balancing their toils with joys, dancing their way across the years while others are plucked early from life by the ruthless, murderous spawn of Satan. They're from Texas, Florida, New Concord, Pakistan; north and south, east and west. They've explored the Euphrates and the deserts. They represent folks from every walk of life. Each story has a character to which we can feel a bond, a familiarity and presence of someone we knew or held close.

Captain Griffin Chaffey and his trusty steed, Nuelle, travel the skies, transporting these dearly departed souls to the destination of their wishes, sharing an apple and small talk while we eavesdrop into their journeys, gleaning a fragment of hope and solace in our hours of need.

It's a book in which the reader will find comfort and hope. This is a book to be shared and treasured; a book that explores “our deepest desires for an afterlife free from the stress and constraints of our earthly bonds.”

Knocking on Heaven's Door - Bob Dylan

For the Good Times

The heartbreak isn't over but I'm beginning to see the light. I've never lost a best friend before. 

Yesterday I was measuring the refrigerator for a replacement. After eighteen years, the old one has finally given up on making things cold. All of a sudden, a magnet jumped off the side wall. When I fished it out from the narrow space between the counter and the appliance, I realized it was the magnet my best friend gave me many years ago. It seemed like a sign to me that she's still with me. I smiled for the first time since Friday when she passed away.

The magnet reminded me of the time at her house when I was raiding her refrigerator and slammed the door too hard. Her little ceramic angel magnet fell off and broke in two. The head rolled underneath and was lost in the dark kingdom of dust bunnies. She'd had to leave town unexpectedly, following the loss of her grandmother and my return flight was not changeable, so I waited alone to go home. I wrote her a short, sorrowful note of apology with an offer to buy her a new magnet to replace the one I ruined. She forgave me with no hesitation and the matter was closed.

My next trip to her house, I was amazed to find the angel magnet hanging proudly on the front of the refrigerator door. She'd found the lost piece and glued it back together. I carefully closed the door on the cold realm of leftovers and sodas and smiled.

My friend will never call me again. We will never walk on the beach looking for shells. Or watch the glorious beauty of sunset we like did so many times on our vacations together. Somehow, I cling to the hope that we are still together, even if separated by life and death, and that one day we will again walk along the shore in awe of God's handiwork.

Banana Pudding with Homemade Custard

Sometimes I crave something that reminds me of summer and childhood. Years ago, we made this recipe with Nabisco Vanilla Wafers and Instant Banana Pudding.

These days, I prefer the taste of the homemade custard that takes only minutes to cook and the flavor alone makes up for the time invested. It's also easy cleanup as only one medium saucepan is needed.

There are 5 main ingredients needed other than bananas and vanilla wafers. Most of these items I keep on hand in my pantry.

Ingredients for the Custard

• 1/2 cup granulated sugar - or use 12 packets of Stevia sweetener or Sucralose
• 4 Tablespoons of powdered corn starch
• 1/4 cup of Karo corn syrup
• 2 egg yolks - It's easy to separate the yolks from the whites. See below.
• 2 cups of whole milk - You can also substitute 2% milk.

After the pudding thickens add:

• 1 Tablespoon butter
• 1 Tablespoon vanilla extract or sometimes I use banana extract if I have it.

To prepare the dish you'll need

• Vanilla wafers and two bananas.

The key to making delicious pudding or custard is in the attention to stirring. Plan to dedicate 15 minutes of your undivided attention to this. Constant stirring eliminates the need for a double boiler and keeps the pudding from scorching and sticking to the pan.

Instructions

Start with a heavy duty medium sized pan.

Measure out the sugar or sweetener right into the cold pan.

Add the corn starch and Karo syrup.




Separate the egg whites from the yolks by using a knife to crack the egg or strike it gently on a the edge of the counter.

Over a separate container, allow the egg white to drip through half of the shell.

Pour the egg yolk into the pan with the dry ingredients.

Pour about half a cup of the milk into the ingredients and stir with a whisk to form a paste.

Add the remaining milk and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly.

Set a timer for about 20 minutes. Depending on your stove, it takes from 15 - 20 minutes for the mixture to come to a boil. At the first sign of boiling, remove the pan from the heat and add the pat of butter and vanilla extract. Stir and allow to cool a bit while you prepare the dish.

Line a casserole dish with a layer of Vanilla Wafers. 

Slice the bananas over the wafers.

Pour the cooked pudding custard over the top.

End with another layer of bananas and finish with the custard. Sometimes I crumble a few Vanilla wafers over the top. 

Chill in the refrigerator for at least two hours and serve with whipped cream.

I hope you enjoy this family favorite dessert.

5 Hours in the Emergency Room

Sitting in the ER on the day before a holiday can be frustrating. Truth is, it can be frustrating anytime, any day. A visitor tends to notice the small, bothersome things, like debris on the floor or black scuff marks on the wheels of the gurney. The patient, on the other hand, notices only the delay in getting the proper care or pain medication that they are screaming for at the moment.

The constant bleeping noise of the blood pressure monitor, left running while the patient is taken to some mysterious location for CT Scans and Sonograms becomes the heartbeat of the room.

The wail of other emergency transport vehicles sounds loud as they echo down the deserted hallways, first a siren, later only flashing red and blue lights before the transport team makes their way past us to one of eighty rooms in the ER.

A lonely housekeeper pushes the hospital equivalent of a Swiffer down the linoleum tile. I almost asked when our room will be swabbed as well, but I didn't. Instead, I concentrated on the blaring volume of the TV where the soap opera plays its own version of drama. My companion, the patient's mother, stares without blinking at the screen catching up on her stories so she can relay updates to her daughter when she returns.

Minutes tick by on the clock in the room, the hands moving ever so slowly as we wait for some sort of results or decisions. After an hour, I go out in search of my missing friend.

"They said she'd only be gone a few minutes," I tell someone kind enough to stop.

"Oh, the techs have no idea how long it takes," the radiologist informs me as I'm pacing the halls under the x-ray sign. "I'll find out what happened to her." He asks her name again. I tell him.

At that moment, a door opens and they roll her back to the same location on the dirty floor of the ER room where it rested before. Someone else comes in the room with the same questions that have been answered a number of times. I wonder what is the point of entering data into the computer when no one can find it again.

The doctor on staff, who's substituting for the regular doctor who's on holiday, who is filling in for the patient's primary care physician, asks if my friend has an Advanced Directive and a Living Will. Although expected, this brings to light the severity of the situation and the possibilities of the outcome.

Five hours of staring at the photo on the wall opposite the ER room, the nurse finally tells us that a room assignment has been made. They roll the patient down the hall, with a brief stop in front of the nurses' station to add Dilaudid to the IV drip We follow the gurney through two buildings and up an elevator to the south wing on the fourth floor where we settle into an ice cold room, thankfully, a private room with a window, where the questions resume with a familiarity that is unnerving and redundant.

"What is your name and date of birth?"
"Do you have an Advanced Directive? A Living will?"
"What is your level of pain on a scale of one to ten. A ten?"
"What prescription pain medications do you take at home?"

An hour later, the shift changes and the night nurse comes in with the same list of questions. By now, we're preparing flash cards with the answers to save energy.

My friend is in Stage IV of Pancreatic cancer, unable to eat, barely able to walk, and each question answered requires serious effort at speaking. We turn the air conditioner setting warmer from 65 to a more pleasant 75 degrees, take our positions on the hard folding chairs provided and wait.

Beach Therapy Please

Tomorrow my best friend will face the hardest day of her life. She's scheduled for an appointment at the cancer center to find out what options she has.

Our days go way back in time, way back to working in a hair salon, sitting for our real estate exams, climbing the corporate ladder, each trying to be a good step-mother to our ex's only child. We've faced hardship and joy together over the decades and now, she faces the hardest times ahead.

I think of her comforting me during my darkest days and realize there's no comparison to what she must be going through. Even now, in these days of bad news, P.E.T. scans, emergency room visits, missed diagnoses and pain, she keeps reminding me that God is in control. She is assured that He will do what's best for her and help her get through whatever lies ahead.

The last time I saw her, I couldn't believe my eyes. She was thinner than I had ever seen her. She has always battled extra weight, up thirty pounds, down ten, up twenty, down five. Now, she tells me she weighs only a few pounds more than I do. Down a hundred.That's not necessarily a good thing.

We've shared a week together on the beach at her timeshare right on the Gulf nearly every September since 1988. The memories we made won't fit into any photo album. There are thousands of scenes in my mind, captured along the way. Seagulls soaring, dolphins swimming, surf roiling, Hurricane Gilbert, poolside chats, beach strolls, sangria toasts, apple strudel, Beach Boy Video and precious time together with no cell phone anywhere near.

We've spent thousands of hours sharing personal issues, dilemmas, new jobs, joy, unemployment, stories of our past lives and loves. She has truly been a sister to me and a genuine friend in thick and thin. Time for some beach therapy.

I'm thinking of her today and praying.

Corporate Obscurity

It was toward the end of a dozen years with a multi-billion dollar corporation that I found myself on a list of employees whose value to the company had come into question. The unfortunate group was assigned to a "special project," which may sound like something desirable that would distinguish or redeem us. Not so for the corporate professional whose contributing days had run their course.

Each of us knew this was a make or break situation. We were in the pool given a monumental task that we knew was destined for failure. There was minimal chance that when the task was completed that success would lead us to a new position within the company. We were living in limbo land.

There were participants from many departments of various levels, grades, and specialties, yet, despite our wins in the past, we now faced that dreaded outcome: "separation from the company" which would end our careers.

Still, most of us took on the responsibilities with chins held high, our stiff upper lips pursed into dogged expressions, and our noses planted firmly on the grindstone.

Our job was to inventory company assets scattered through the facilities of its outsourced transportation company and find discrepancies in the millions of dollars of equipment that had gone missing from the books. For the best part of five weeks, we traveled from city to city across the United States serving in the heat of blistering warehouses in Atlanta, Boston, New Jersey, Florida and other, more obscure towns.

The members of our team, for the most part, grew closer through our mutually shared yet unspoken knowledge of upcoming doom. Each of us hoped somehow to distinguish ourselves in some creative way and regain our misplaced importance to the corporate entity. Our futures depended on making the right impressions with those token "safe" employees who joined us from time to time to interject a sense of validity to our efforts. If only we could make the right connection, impress the holder of an open personnel requisition, perhaps befriend someone who could keep us afloat in a top-heavy, overburdened ship with excess cargo.

The rumors of upcoming layoffs floated among us in the evenings when we gathered for the dinner meal. Those were times when the most desperate tried their hardest to find a listening ear, to work out some deal to keep themselves on the payroll. Doomed alliances were pushed to the limit by intense competition for any safe place left within the organization.

As we toiled in our unaccustomed manual labor roles of the temporary assignment, we brushed elbows with Vice Presidents and departmental leaders whose objective during their brief tenure among us was assessment of team members.

As the hours, days and weeks passed, the stays at adequate but less than luxurious hotels continued. We sweated, washed our clothes in motel laundromats, ate take-out food, sang songs and whistled while we worked, and grew as close as our tenuous situation would allow. When we concluded our round-about inventory tour, our diverse team members returned to their respective home bases and awaited our fates.

To our immense surprise, the project was deemed an unqualified success. We located and documented millions of dollars of elusive inventory and turned our ill-fated mission around. Many were able to secure jobs in new areas within the company. Our assignment became a test of our adaptability to change. Those who were able to embrace the uncertainty and plow through were awarded a cash bonus and handed an engraved plaque of recognition by the Senior Vice President.

It was a memorable moment in the trial by fire of the corporate worker.

Salad - 50 Ways to Lose Your Blubber

Trying to lose a few pounds at my age has become a real challenge. Two years ago I decided to lose ten pounds. I'm not discouraged. I've only got twenty more pounds to go. "All I had was a salad." Go figure.

This is a favorite with Iceberg lettuce, chopped Roma tomatoes, drained black beans and sliced fresh strawberries. Where I've been going wrong is with the dressing. If you read the label, two tablespoons is an average serving with 140 calories. I usually quadruple that amount. (I may be underestimating a bit.) This week I decided to try something different. I've been using Balsamic Vinaigrette mixed with Zesty Italian Lite dressing and I've lost two pounds.

This was lunch on Monday: Iceberg lettuce, chopped celery, sliced baby carrots, chopped beefsteak tomatoes and dressing. What's missing is the mountain of cheese that I usually shred over the top of this "low-fat" meal. Of course, I've skipped the Simply Dipped Nutty Buddy ice cream cone afterward, too. How droll.

For variety, there's rolled up deli turkey, 15 calories per slice, and rather than the entire tomato, I used only half. What a sacrifice!

This one's also a favorite with baby spinach leaves, deli turkey and half of an avocado. I like to sprinkle a little lemon juice over the top to keep it from browning too quickly. Usually, there's no danger of that since it's gone in 60 seconds. Just kidding. It usually lasts three minutes while I watch an episode of Snapped: Killer Couples or Lt. Joe Kenda on TV.

Here's another way to use up that Costco-size Hillshire's Farm Deli Turkey in the economical five-gallon tub. I back-slid on this one and added shredded cheddar cheese, but to make up for it, there's fresh grapes. So I'm good, right?

Okay, here I'm really falling off the wagon with this tuna salad and its high calorie mayonnaise. Please help me, I'm falling. Down one pound and back up two. Aaaccck!

Getting better all the time with these added black olives, half a boiled egg, Garbanzo beans (for protein) and two rolled up slices of deli ham at 25 calories each. Oh, don't forget the Roma tomatoes and the half cup of Ranch Dressing.

Now, you're cooking. Avocado, black beans, grilled chicken breast, Roma tomatoes over Iceberg lettuce. Yes, now, that's a meal in itself. But wait, what about the dressing?

Venturing way out on a limb with Artisan type lettuce, otherwise, same stuff, different day. Black beans, Roma tomatoes, boiled egg, hold the salt - I'm on a diet. Ah, never mind. What good is an egg without salt?

Better. Tuna with no mayonnaise, sliced baby carrots, baby spinach, Iceberg lettuce, paprika. Uh oh. Giant bowl.

Really branching out now. Adding diced Bell pepper, rolled ham with Swiss cheese, boiled egg, Spinach and Iceberg lettuce. Feeling happy. Have a nice day. Ok. Google won't let me add more images so that's it for now. Eat healthy. Drum roll. Here's Paul Simon, 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.

5 Things to Make a Trip to the Emergency Room Easier

When the phone rang at ten pm on a Sunday night, a quavery voice said, "We've had a little accident over here." These few words can send the adrenaline pumping. The first time we got that call, we rushed over to check on Mom who said she'd fallen. She'd crawled from her living room to the bedroom to use the only working phone. The other one broke with her fall. We wondered if we should call an ambulance or just drive her to the hospital to get checked out. We made the wrong decision.

We learned the hard way that it's dangerous to move or transport an injured person. Worse, when we arrived at the emergency room there was a long wait behind others who either looked worse or had arrived by medical transport. She spent a couple of uncomfortable hours on a hard xray table before the doctor arrived at the small town hospital. Mom was admitted with a broken hip.

Another call came on the morning of New Year's Eve before seven am. Mom asked for help getting a shower explaining that she had fallen during the night. She lay on the bathroom floor until morning. The tone of her voice indicated something was very wrong. I should have called an ambulance immediately. Instead, we bundled her up against the January cold and drove her to the emergency room. Again, bad move. The hospital was operating with a skeleton crew due to the holiday. We waited in the ER eight long hours surrounded by patients who were coughing, sneezing or vomiting.

During that time, the staff would not allow Mom to have even an ice chip until the doctor examined her. When her name was finally called, the doctor launched into a lecture about the patient being seriously dehydrated and running a fever. Imagine our response.

When the time comes to go to the hospital, the arriving paramedics will ask about the patient's  medications, their allergies, and medical history before the current emergency. 

Emergency Go Bag

Ambulance drivers want to take the patient's insurance and identification cards with them on the way to the hospital. Giving them a photocopy can avoid the loss of the patient's original cards. Gathering copies of all this info in one place ahead of time can help reduce some of the stress. 

1. Make a copy of the patient's Medical Insurance Card, front and back. It has the phone number, policy and member's identification number. Put the copy into a Go Bag dedicated for emergencies.
2. While at the doctor before an emergency grab two of their business cards; one for your wallet and one for the Go Bag.
3. Create a list of other important phone numbers in case your cell phone battery dies during the wait. You'll want the numbers for their doctors, their minister, out-of-town relatives, friends and neighbors who might be concerned.
4. Make a list of prescription medications showing the exact dosages and the frequency taken. 
5. Add a list of known allergies or reactions to medication taken in the past and a list of over-the-counter medicines taken routinely.

When my husband went to the hospital for surgery, he was taking a lot of prescription medications. Rather than try to remember them, we made a list of each medication, its exact strength and dosage frequency. Several printed copies of this list went into the Go Bag. The admissions staff, nurses and doctors were grateful not to have to write it all down by hand. For example:

It's often necessary to provide info about previous hospital stays and the outcome, and whether the patient was admitted, along with a list of all surgeries the patient has undergone.

• Prepare a List of previous surgeries, the types and the dates, such as,  Appendectomy - 1975; Left Hip, Replacement Surgery - 1991

It's a good idea to ask the patient for this information ahead of time. If they're confused or possibly unconscious you'll have the list available.

Most of the following items are optional for the Go Bag, but they're handy and easy to pick up at the dollar store.

1. A small tablet for notes and instructions once the doctor arrives.
2. A good book for long waits at the hospital and to avoid the germ laden, out-of-date magazines in the waiting room.
3. Bottled water and packaged crackers or cookies. When your wait is long you'll be glad you have this. It never fails, if you leave the room for a minute to go to the cafeteria, that's when a medical person comes in with an update.
4. Cup of instant soup or protein bars.
5. Wet wipes and travel size hand sanitizer.
6. Tissues for tears or runny noses.
7. A new toothbrush and travel size toothpaste. This is for you.
8. Packets of sugar or artificial sweetener, salt, pepper, and plastic spoons. Sometimes a vending machine has food but there are no utensils or condiments available.
9. A clean pair of cotton socks to wear in those cold waiting rooms at the hospital.

If you drive your friend to the hospital, bring along any medical equipment they use. When Dad became critically ill after chemo, he refused to go in the ambulance. We drove him to the emergency room and in our haste, left his portable oxygen at home. The ER was overflowing and he had a dreadfully long wait before they finally admitted him to intensive care. Every gasping breath without his oxygen was a nightmare.

If your friend is admitted and you want to talk with the attending doctor,  sometimes they make their rounds near midnight so you could be waiting a while. Once you've invested hours waiting for X-rays, blood work and other stuff, you'll want to know what's going on.

In the hopeful possibility that your senior is not admitted, you'll want to bring their walker or wheelchair when you follow the ambulance to the hospital. They'll need these when they're released. One final tip just in case you lose the ambulance you're following. Ask the paramedics where they're taking the patient so you'll arrive at the right hospital.

Taking a few moments to assemble a few items into a Go Bag can reduce some of the anxiety that goes with any trip to the hospital. The best hope is that you won't ever need to use it.

On Becoming Your Parent's Guardian - Role Reversal

It creeps in slowly on little cat's feet and begins with hesitation over minor decisions.

When my mother started asking me about everyday things like how much rice to make and how long should it cook, I gently reminded her that she'd cooked rice longer than I had. Soon, the uncertainties evolved into indecision about everyday activities. Small tasks became more difficult as time passed. In one way, being asked for advice from a parent was flattering like my voice mattered. My input was finally valued. What I didn't know was that the tide had begun to turn and the child was becoming the parent one small step at a time. When our parents seek help on small tasks they've easily handled in the past, it's can come as a surprise. 

Mom at her 87th birthday with her sister.

Things went along smoothly as our new relationship emerged. I became more of an equal to someone who had always shown authority and control. My responsibility was awakening.

This awesome responsibility is not to be taken lightly. It arrives with its own baggage, setbacks and joy. Friends my age also found themselves called upon to provide direction and advice.

My best friend shared the frustration of trying to persuade her mother to use her supplemental oxygen like she is supposed to. Another friend shared the challenge of convincing her mother to  use the hearing aide she clearly needed and the frustration of having to repeat ourselves. How familiar it seems to be interrupted mid-sentence by someone who in the past would have said, "Not now, Mother is speaking." But the shoe is on the other foot for each of us.

Aunt Lou at 94

A stay-at-home mom of the fifties, my mother began her mid-life career with practically non-existent employment experience. She left nurse's training to get married in 1945. After her thirty year marriage ended, she took vocational training and embarked on a career as a Certified Nurse Assistant at the age of fifty.

I was suddenly asked for advice on dating, grocery shopping and apartment hunting, advice she had given in the past. Mom's new life as a single sole-provider continued over the next thirty years. On her eightieth birthday, she officially retired from a second career as a Teacher's aide. Her experience of taking a job outside the home added skills, confidence and a sense of accomplishment.

Reality struck after Mom went into the hospital for an extended stay. Although I'd been a co-signer on her checking account, I'd never managed her bank account. Writing out her bills opened my eyes. Her bills reflected a level of forgetfulness with misplaced invoices, lapsed auto insurance policies and past due notices tucked away in drawers. It became my job to manage her bill paying. There was no complaint from Mom who was glad to be rid of the tedious responsibilities.

Driving became another challenge and I worried about when she continued driving in her eighties. With diminished reflexes and increased fragility, it really wasn't safe anymore. She turned over her car keys to me voluntarily, stating she didn't feel confident on the road anymore. I was truly relieved. Not everyone acts logically when that time comes. It's often a source of friction. It's a reverse milestone of the day when we get behind the wheel of a car in our teens, a life-altering decision and makes one truly dependent like a small child again.

The two sisters still function independently in so many important ways, although nursing home bound by health, vision, hearing and memory impairments. They make me proud. One thing remains certain in our relationship. It is the unshakable friendship of my Mom, my true friend. She is a blessing and reminds me in so many ways that I'm the lucky one.

This story was originally published on HubPages in 2010 by PegCole17.

The Carriage Driver by Michael Friedman - Book Review

The Carriage Driver

Versatile author, Michael Friedman, writes from the heart about things that matter. In his book, The Carriage Driver, a collection of stories about the afterlife, he captures the hearts those who believe as well as those who only hope there is life after death.

His tales identify possible choices for each of us as we pass through the veil of darkness and our bodies outlive their usefulness. He presents options where we pick our new lives as we move out of this physical realm and into the after world. His tales provide possible answers to the eternal question: What if?

This gathering of stories incorporates individuals from all walks of life carrying on their hopes and dreams and moving them to the next level. Some arrive at The Castle for a sumptuous dinner; others conduct a symphony, perform an original musical masterpiece, paint a work of art or ride off into the sunset of our dreams. 

As the author explains in his Preface, “This work presents the instances where a person's life has led to a promised land.”

This book is one that the reader will turn to time and again with the passing of time as we long for the comfort of a future for ourselves and our loved ones. The closer one gets to our ultimate demise, we ache for a place, as promised in the Christian ministry and other religions, of "many mansions" where we might choose a resting place on our continuous journey. 

These beautifully written and uplifting stories provide insight into what might await us as we cross over into the unknown and pass through eternity. Peppered with wisps of poetry and driven by our favorite steed, Nuelle, we ride together into the storm as we face the future.

I'll Fly Away, Alison Krauss

Finding Leo

We were driving down a familiar road headed home to our cottage in the country when we saw something brown running alongside of the road. As we passed by the creature, it fell to the ground and turned over, legs up toward the sky. We pulled off the road and walked back toward the little thing and it started wagging its tail.

The pads of his paws were bloodied by the distance he had traveled on the blistering hot asphalt. We could tell he was some sort of toy poodle despite the filthy, matted fur that covered his entire body. We scooped him up and headed home.

I put him in the kitchen sink and ran warm water over his body, soaping him up with shampoo. He shivered nervously as I clipped the matted clumps from his frame revealing a soft coat of white fur. His ribs were showing through the short hair when I finished. We wrapped him in a soft towel and held him until he was dry. I’ll never forget the look of gratitude in his sweet eyes as he reached up to give me a kiss before falling asleep in my arms.

The veterinarian told us that he was likely around nine years old, about ten pounds, suffering a bit of malnutrition and from the normal parasites that go along with living in the wild. We got him his shots and medication for the flea bites and abrasions that were present on his feet and body. He went back home with us, immediately taking charge of my lap like a hood ornament, staring out of the front window of the car.

We weren’t supposed to have dogs in the small place we were renting, but we convinced the landlord that he wouldn't be any trouble. With tile floors, any cleanup would be minimal, we told them, and we would be responsible for any damage. The little guy never once messed in the house.

Shortly after that, we relocated to another city where we took him with us into an apartment in a new complex with lime green shag carpet and Harvest Gold appliances. We both found new jobs and Leo stayed home during the day. It wasn’t long before the neighbors stopped us on our way inside.

“Did you know that your dog howls the entire time you’re at work?” they asked.

“Well, no.” We had no idea that he was so lonely. “I hope it doesn’t bother you.” No, they didn’t mind. They also had a dog, a beagle they named Beagle, and he barked most of the time.

Leo seemed fine for a time and then he started howling so much he began to wheeze and cough up foam. We took him to a new veterinarian who x-rayed his throat and discovered he had a torn esophagus, probably from eating sticks and rocks when he was out on his own. His jaw was also broken and not repairable, according to the doctor. We were given little choice other than to put him down.

Still in my teens as a young wife, it was my first time to make the ominous decision to end the life of a pet. I could barely live with myself for weeks afterward. The gaping hole in my heart after he made the trip to Heaven was nearly unbearable. The only consolation was that his last few months of his life he was happy and secure and well-loved. I always wondered where he came from, why he was out on his own, who might be missing this little boy.

The only remedy to the lasting heartache was to bring another dog into our household, a puppy, whose exuberance and joy was a much needed blessing after losing our rescued pup.