The power of prayer

We were flying from Providence to North Carolina to see my mother and all was going according to plan. Daniel, 8, woke on his own before I had to wake him and once in Providence we caught the bus from the parking to the terminal no problem. We zipped through security and sat at our gate for a relaxing hour drinking tea, eating muffins, and reading the comics. And then the worrying began.

The man at the gate asked for volunteers to check their bags for free. I volunteered thinking I wouldn’t have to load my bag and Daniel’s bag into the overhead bins. It would be easier. Daniel was protesting. He didn’t want to do it. Daniel must have asked 10 times if our bags were going to arrive in New Bern – before, after, and during takeoff. “Yes, of course the bags will make it,” I replied knowing full well anything can happen.

Once we thought we were on our way, we proceeded to park on the runway for an hour due to heavy incoming traffic to Charlotte. Then the worrying began. We could easily miss our connection in Charlotte to New Bern and we would have NO bags. I wasn’t feeling hopeful about a later flight to New Bern as it is a very small airport and one flight a day was probably it.

“Are we going to make our connection?” Daniel asked over and over. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Well into the flight, the captain came on and explained that connections to New Bern were doubtful. Now Daniel was very worried. He decided to pray. “Dear God, I pray we make our flight to New Bern and Meemaw’s today. Amen.”

I am not kidding, shortly thereafter the captain came on the intercom and said the New Bern flight had been delayed and we might just make our connection after all. We high fived each other from our adjoining seats.

Still, we were still quite late and we had no idea how long the delay was. So once in Charlotte, we sprinted the mile from A terminal to E terminal (a good mile) and were surprised when we arrived at our gate. They were not even boarding yet. A nearby passenger couldn’t help but notice our huffing and puffing and asked what our name was. When I told her “McGovern” she said “I think the attendant is looking for you.”

Turns out her seat and our seats 4 A, B were broken and that was the reason for the delay. We needed new seat assignments. Well, Daniel was convinced that prayer works and later that weekend he said he would pray for the Patriots to win their game. I said, “I don’t think God cares about a football game.” His reply: “I'm gonna try it.” Because you never know, you never know.

Unrelated thoughts

-It's time for new glasses when you think the dog has snow on his back and he is simply wet and what you are seeing is his white skin.

-It's time for new glasses when an OLD man in the graveyard is walking a dog you know. The next day you see the same dog with it's regular owner. "I saw your father walking your dog yesterday," I said by way of greeting. The woman said, "Oh that was my husband, he's a little gray." I still think he looked at least 70 while she could be in her 30s.

-When my boss, 80, told me an elderly man came up to him - I asked "What's elderly." He explained that he was all stooped over.

-I found an escaped darkling beetle in the hallway. This is Daniel's pet beetle.

-When the piano teacher calls he always says, "This is Dennis, the piano teacher."

-What do allergies, autism and hyperactivity have in common? They were not nearly as prevalent 30 years ago.

-Kids are so tuned into allergies these days that when Michael had friends over for breakfast Daniel said, "You should ask them if they have allergies." I told him I would just sprinkle peanuts in their pancakes." NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I got it bad, you got it good . . . .

Daniel is in the habit of saying “Is that bad?” or alternatively “Is that good?” when Mom or Dad say something. I think it is his way of learning values and developing his own bullshit barometer.

“Oh look at the sky . . . red sky in morn, sailors be warned.”

“Is that bad?” he’ll ask.

Sometimes I just say, “It just is” and then I’ll explain because not everything is bad or good, black or white.

Like this job for instance. There are things I hate and things I like but I digress . . .

Toto attacked Buster a few weeks ago and Daniel asked, “Is that bad?” Yes, it’s bad because now he bites people and dogs, I helpfully explained. The attacks are all about establishing dominance and usually involve food, so (knock on wood) I think the attacks are subsiding.

“Gingivitis”

“Is that bad?”

“Yes, it is. It’s gum disease.”

Bruises and bit marks from getting in the middle of a dominance, dog attack.

“Is that bad?”

“Yes it is.”

“Is it good to be the smallest state?”

I think so, because it makes us unique.

“Are worms (in dogs) bad?”

“Yes, they are.”

“What are carbohydrates? Are they bad?”

“If you eat too much of them, they are. You gotta have some fruits and veggies."

You get the idea. The bad and good continues and perhaps I should mix it up a little and when he asks me if something is bad, I’ll be really sarcastic and say it is good and then after he kind of looks confused and smiles I’ll say “Is that bad?”

Unrelated thoughts

• I inadvertently scammed the drive thru woman out of a muffin when she handed me my tea and change. “What ?” she wondered. “My muffin?” I wondered back. She scurried around clearly annoyed and put a muffin in a bag herself. This clearly was not part of the Dunkin Donuts system. As I drove off, I noticed two muffins on the seat beside me. And the thing is that I didn’t even remember her handing me the first muffin.

• On the holiday party front, my mother doesn’t ask people to bring anything to her parties because all anyone brings is dip and then all you have is lots of dip to throw away.
  
• 
  Addendum to why I might start smoking column:

• I can forget about the $1.4 million I need to accumulate to live at 85% of my current income in retirement – because I will die sooner.

• I can meet new people as I smoke outside restaurants and other establishments.

Children's Sermon

Well, let’s see we had Halloween, Thanksgiving and there is another big holiday coming up on Monday (Nov. 28^th). Does anyone know what that is?

It’s a very special day. It’s my birthday.

Some people hate birthdays. There are women who are 39 forever . . . but I love them.

What do you love about them? Cake, presents, ice cream, love . . . .

I love them because it’s your special day and you have people who love and care about you saying “You are special.” I wanna feel like that every day.

The only thing I don’t like about birthdays is the song. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear . . . .Happy birthday to you. Perhaps we could revise the words. We love you so much. We care about you. You look like a . . . . And you smell like one too. Just kidding about that last part.

The other thing I don’t like about birthdays is when my boys were little and the one with the birthday was getting all the attention and presents, the other one would get jealous and sad. When I was little, my grandmother had a solution for that. They were called love gifts. She would bring little gifts for everyone who didn’t have a birthday that day. Just some little thing but it made you feel good.

That to me is the whole idea. Love.

Dear God: Please help us remember how special we are and that we have people who love and care about us. Amen

Nightmares

Courtesy of Buster

I have a recurring nightmare (among those dealing with pregnancy at age 46 and exams/graduate thesis I forgot about) about walking through the halls of a nameless, faceless high school and being late/lost on my way to class. Well, that nightmare became a reality at the high school Back To School Night. When my son handed me his schedule – he offered to draw me a basic map. “What entrance will you start from?” he asked helpfully. “The auditorium . . . “ That was the last I heard of a map that never materialized.

As Iooked over his schedule with room numbers 102, 208, 307 and the like I said “How hard could it be – first floor, second floor, third floor.” “You’ll see,” he smiled.

Well, the hallways were extremely crowded and I was a bit claustrophobic. But I did find all of the classrooms, albeit, some of them later rather than sooner. I just took a stab at where I should go and in most cases ended up in the right place. That is except for one door that read “To Music Room, Room 218.” This door led to a sort of dead end room/stairway that was clearly not room 218. Also, sometimes the room numbers were not in sequence. Shouldn’t room 209 be near room 208? Sometimes consecutive numbers were at opposite ends of the hallway. So see some of my nightmare did come true.

On the upside, the teachers all seemed nice and fairly outgoing, or they were odd. There were a couple of odd ones. But that makes life interesting. Only one teacher seemed more quiet – the English teacher. Perhaps she is more cerebral.

It was like old home week walking through those halls and seeing many old friends from around town. I noticed that I felt a lot more confident that I did walking around in high school some 30 years ago and that was a good feeling. Progress, ain’t it grand?!

As the bells rang to switch classes, something else was not the same. The bells were fake, a recording piped in over the PA. How disappointing. Perhaps the bells don’t work anymore. Perhaps they did this because we weren’t on the normal bells schedule (5 minute classes). Perhaps no one else noticed but me. Odd. That’s what makes life interesting.

Still, I hope they have real bells.

Unrelated Thoughts

• In the joy department, we had one oblong, odd, oval shaped egg from our chickens. It turned out to have a double yolk. That was our thrill for the day.
  



• I’ve decided to be less stressed. Just this simple declaration seems to help.
  



• In the I told you so department, Buster literally trashed the house on recent rainy day. I warned Doug before I left that day that he would likely do some damage as he has been surreptitiously taking apart the dog house when outside.
  



• Love: Your Own Personal Blog Entry
  
  I had a good friend who died a while back who epitomized love. She was always so supportive and would give me a gift it seemed like everytime we got together. The thing is when she was dying and I spoke to her for the last time on the phone I didn't want to say "Thank you for being such a great friend" because that would suggest her ultimate demise. I said something lame like, "Well.........................." The point is I really appreciate you, our friendship, laughter and love. I feel like if I was really in need you would help me and I know if you were really in need I would help you. And that my friend is love. So I love you. Not in a lesbian kind of way but in a love kind of way. And I have guy friends I love too but wouldn't likelytell them for fear they would get the wrong idea. For the record: I am not a lesbian. I feel blessed and lucky to have you as a friend. And I know I was blessed and lucky to have Helen as a friend - though I didn't really tell her because I didn't want to suggest it was the end.

Paper or plastic? It's paper all the way

Paper lunch bags may not be all that environmental compared with insulated, reusable ones but they are cool and that's important at a certain age. They were all we had when I was young and today they are also paying big dividends for Mom (more on that in a minute).

The boys don't want to bring their LLBean insulated lunch bags to school anymore because they are NOT cool. I personally don't see what the problem is, really. Matthew told me that only some of the 7th grade girls still bring the insulated bags. Oh yes, these boys are hip with their brown bags. And I should have seen this coming last year when Michael would sneak his packed lunch out of the insulated bag and surreptitiously transfer it to a paper one.

Being cool is very important. And if you're not, I can't help you.

When I explained that all this wasn't very environmentally friendly, they suggested they could bring the brown bags home to re-use. (I haven't seen evidence of this yet.)

Confession: This made me remember Mary Darling, who we judged very harshly for this as caddy girls in 6th grade. I can see her wrinkled lunch bag carefully folded up flat, on top of her pile of school books to this day. Mary, I would respect you now.

There is an upside of all this brown paper bag trash. For some reason (it probably has to do with all the 'weird' and probably uncool things I would put in their lunches), the boys are now packing their own lunches! Can you spell Hallelujah? There are a couple of different ways . . .

Confession: I would sometimes put things in the boys lunches that they might not always eat at home because I know when I am at work and away from the cornucopia of food choices at home - I will eat almost anything.

Unrelated thoughts

• Daniel found a patch of wild time while peeing in the brush before a soccer game. I am not kidding, I verified that it was thyme. What 7 year old boy recognizes this herb in a pile of weeds?


• I confess my driver's license has listed me at 142 since high school. I was 142 or less ONCE in those 30 years. You gotta have hope, right?


• "I got only 2 wrong on my assessment," Daniel explained. "What's that?" I asked. "You don't know what an assessment is?" he asked playfully and somewhat incredulously. This boy may have a career as a politician . . . .or a botanist. Time will tell.

There's an omnivore in the house

There is a nectarine missing from this bowl.

I didn't know dogs ate fruit - well I did really because as a girl, our labs and golden retrievers would follow me around with the hopes of eating my apple core or the end of my carrot. These used to be snack foods - not sure if kids today even know what the end of a carrot is. Anyway, back to dogs and fruit, let me rephrase - I didn't know dogs ate fruit right out of the fruit bowl, until recently. Recently, that is when I discovered a missing nectarine from the fruit bowl and Buster with it out on the deck, munching away. You see, Buster has a very bad or is it smart? habit of getting his paws right up on the counter and helping himself to what he wants. This includes the compost, butter, fruit bowl, drinking glasses, dishes, you name it. Don't leave an apple out on the counter - it will get confiscated by an omnivorous canine.

In the another great habit category - Buster, when wet, likes to dry himself off on people's pants legs or the curtains. Isn't that cute?

Speaking of canines - Toto nipped at another victim. This 'nip' created a couple pin size holes in the boys shirt. The boy was scared of Toto, making too much eye contact, recoiling and Toto growled and bit his shirt. Good thing for clothing. That was that. My best hope is to give young, fearful visitors handfuls of steak to re-program Toto's anxiety about strangers in the house. Outside, he 'seems' better . . .

Unrelated thoughts

• What's worse than gray hair - a bad dye job. A friend waved to me at a crowded restaurant from a good 60 feet away and I could easily see the skunky strip where her roots would be.


• Thank you to my women friends who I will call my e-support group. It helps get me through the day.


• My boss likes me to use a bigger, bolder font in email. He thinks it looks more important. For this reason, perhaps bigger is better and makes more of an impression.


• Seen on school medical form: Check all that apply - absence of one lung.


• When I complained about a certain 'control freak' at work, the boys declared "You become the control freak." Isn't that supportive of my guys?


• In the bad karma department - my mother dismantled my grandmother's engagement ring - as well as one of my favorite, tangible memories of my grandmother. She took the emerald out and put it in gaudy yellow gold. That Tiffany setting will never be the same. This ring was really how most of us remember my grandmother but mom couldn't look at it without thinking of Gram's bony finger. Well, well, well that new ring with the old emerald has gone missing, stolen she thinks. It doesn't really matter how. But don't worry, my mom still has Gram's old ring with a nice amethyst replacement stone. Yuk.


• Stories from Mom when visiting this summer: -She thought she heard Daniel howling like a wolf one night. My guess it was the coyotes in the nearby woods. -She brought and thought about mixing up some 15 year old spinach dip from a packet. This would be presented to ladies coming over for drinks - my mother bought this dip from one of them who owned a store that closed some 15 years ago. I did not allow her to make this dip. She thought it would be interesting . . . who keeps packets of spinach dip for 15 years and brings them on trips? -Finally, she related how her family had chickens and a duck growing up. She and her brother would fight over the duck egg and often end up breaking it. "Why my parents never thought of alternating who got the duck egg, I don't know," Mom explained. A very good point.

Signs of Intelligence

Is Buster (the new dog) smart or stupid? You be the judge. O.K., yes, he's kind of goofy but in a loveable and affectionate way. And with his new haircut he looks a bit like a cartoon character - Deputy Dawg, perhaps.

As I said to Michael, how stupid can a dog be that knows how to open the slider? - both the screen door and the glass door, mind you.

The screen is easy. He kind of gets his long nose in there and pushes it to his right. So that doesn't demonstrate tremendous intelligence. But the glass door, that is something else entirely. He rubs his body right against the door - pushing against the glass for firm contact and he slides himself along side it backwards to open it. Smart, right?

If he wants to investigate something like the countertop or the trash, he does so my standing on his hind legs or nosing his way into the cabinet to get at the trash. No matter how many times you tell him NO, he continues to do what he wants.

My friend Nan says Labradoodles (a mutt really) have no remorse. Perhaps he is just compartmentalizing aka. Bill Clinton. I actually think be might be a Houndoodle (not a real breed) as he was rejected from the puppy mill.

Since we returned from vacation, Buster has peed in the house at least twice, that I know of. Once, after eating his dinner outside on the deck, he let himself back in the house and peed and pooped on the rug - in the same vicinity he apparently used while we were away. Smart, huh?

Then he did it again, continuing his business even with my repeated banging of a spoon on the dining room table. Like I said, he does what he wants. . .

And that includes:

-Coming when called! (Biscuits help)
-Chewing pencils, shoes, recycling (especially cardboard), etc.
-Barking to come in the house
-Trying to climb in human laps
-Excess affection, exhuberance for human owners
-Sitting/resting on human feet for maximum contact
-Running away from irritated humans (with the TV remote in his mouth, for instance)
-Scaring chickens after repeated warnings
-Latching on to Toto's tail (and not letting go)
-Eating freshly picked garden string beans from the collander,while reclining atop the outdoor table