Category Archives: inspiration

Tea for Ten (and tasty shoe leather too)

Kathy, Julie, me, reflective pond

“Anyone celebrating a special occasion?” our tour guide, John, asked.

Kathy, Julie, and I~ along with seven others (people we didn’t know) ~huddled together at the entry to the Japanese Friendship Garden in Phoenix.

After a long silence, one of the ladies in our tour group of ten said, “It’s a good day to be alive.”

“That’s a good reason to celebrate,” Kathy said.

“Every day I wake up and I’m alive, I celebrate,” said the lady, who we later learned goes by the name of Georgia and is 80 years old.

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My Sadness, My Joy: How My Life Is Affected In Ways I Never Imagined

Tears came to her eyes. I had just asked Alejandra* in my limited Spanish, “Dónde está bebé?” The question seemed to crush her spirit like a giant vice squeezing every ounce of joy she had mustered. Pain and sorrow and heartache flowed from her facial expression. She spoke quietly in Spanish to my interpreter. Oh I wish I could remember the interpreter’s name. But his name escapes me right now. I do remember his words stated very bluntly to me and in plain English. “The baby died.”

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Just a Moment…I Have a Phone Call

“Put that phone down, Mama. Your food is getting cold. What are you? Twelve-years-old?”

I glanced up from my phone and noticed our server holding a coffee pot and flashing a rosy-cheeked smile. Apparently, she had just called me out on my phone usage while dining in her café.

I gave her one of my taken aback “I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that” looks.

First off, I have never had anyone call me ‘Mama’ other than the person who is supposed to call me Mama and he calls me Mom.

Once our server caught on that she might have offended me, she said, “Oh, I say that all the time to my best friends. I just don’t want your food to get cold.”

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Daggers in My Back and Side

card-from-julie

As I write this, knives poke me in the side and one twists in my back with sadistic intent. Not just ordinary knives, but daggers actually. I feel them slashing my insides. EEEEEEEEEEEE!! Excuse that outburst but the… EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…pain causes me to screech unexpectedly.

You might be wondering how I can even write this blog with the stabbing pain piercing my body. Well, it isn’t easy. All I can say is, writing takes my mind off my painful circumstance. A coma would also do that, but writing seems preferable.

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The Dreaded Middle Seat & Goggle-Eyes

flight

“Oh, oh! We can’t have this!” said the flight attendant as she stomped down the aisle toward me. Passengers continued to board, but I heard her footsteps above the others. Clippity-thud, clippity-thud, thud, thud. I had just turned on the air adjustment above me and leaned my head back to enjoy my nice, airy aisle seat. Ahh.

The flight attendant leaned over the (not-yet-occupied) seat in front of me.

“I need you to move to 6B,” she said. “Go sit with your husband.”

“He’s my brother,” I said.

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