Chapel of Hope Stories

Dear Reader:

The other day I scrubbed and scrubbed my refrigerator on the B&B side with at least three different anti-rust solutions…to no avail… the fridge door was squeaky clean but still rusty. So I ordered another stick-on poster by Katie Daisy and now the whole refrigerator door is covered with beautiful posters. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. 🙂

Besides…I love being surrounded by love. You might remember I ordered a LOVE wooden piece of art decor from Kelly Rae Roberts for my wood stove and every night while watching television or reading I glance at the word and just feel warm. We should always remind ourselves that love is the most powerful force on earth…and something that is always worth waiting for…no matter how long the wait.

I absolutely love this true love story of 97-year-old woman (Helen Danis) who had never gone to her prom because it was during the Great Depression, her father had lost his job at the mill, and her stepmother didn’t make enough coins to buy lipstick… much less a prom dress for her.

So now her 48 year-old granddaughter, Julie Huddon, who had heard the story several times decided it was time for her beloved ‘granny’ to get her Cinderella night out at the prom. She talked to her son who was a senior, Evans…(who suffers from spinal bifida and was planning on attending with friends in his motorized wheelchair.) He, whole-heartedly agreed to the idea.

Julie Huddon, 48, from Warwick, Rhode Island, had always wanted to learn more about her grandmother’s life. “She’s had a tough life with a lot of memories that aren’t so happy,” she told NBC News.

When Huddon realized that her grandmother had never done basic childhood activities like attend prom or sit on Santa’s lap, she decided to help make a “bucket list” of things she would help her grandmother do. It was now spring…and time for the prom.

Dear Reader:

These days…the only plants I plant by seed are my moon flower vines. I must admit that there is an extra thrill when you press a seed into the ground….knowing that magic…will one day come spewing forth in the form of giant white blooms that take one’s breath away and smell deliciously.

Past years’ moon flowers….photos: From a little seed such beauty (with a star inside) takes one’s breath away…I squeal every evening in the fall when one opens to my delight! I never tire of watching this miracle take place and sharing it with my readers!

The seed is probably the most used metaphor in the English language…there are dozens of ways to use it. I loved the examples of metaphors and possibilities in this article. (Excerpts: Magical Properties of Seeds– Colby Ward) * Excerpts

The Seed as a Metaphor

Metaphorically seeds have been used to describe abstract ideas and influences that grow in our minds and souls. The seeds of desire are planted to inspire love while seeds of doubt cause us to question our own motives and self worth. Seeds as ideas and inspiration are planted by teachers and mentors cultivating them in their students to grow into their full potential. Other individuals prefer to sow seeds of discord to create chaos in the world for their own enjoyment.

…Seeds are the messengers of the plant world.  They carry their message of botanical blue prints through many creative means.  Some seeds take flight, riding on wind and storm; while others travel by attaching themselves to animals and humans taking advantage of their mobility.  Birds transport seeds in their bellies and those that aren’t digested grow from the excrement left over from the alchemical processes of digestion.  Squirrels are the cultivars of the woodlands.  They inter their found treasures in the fertile Underworld to survive the winter, and are unknowingly responsible for planting entire forests.

(*I will try to remind myself of this the next time Skippy devours all the bird seed!)

As a teacher I used the metaphor of planting the seeds of  knowledge in my classroom continuously….one stanza in a poem I wrote for the Post & Courier on why I teach said something like:

…”It feels right to hold the future, and mold it in my hand…Knowing this clay will make the next leaders of our land. It feels right to let them go and take life’s journey on their own…knowing I have planted the seeds that will be sown.”

I love this stage of the seed growth…because it is all about possibilities and dreams of a beautiful tomorrow.

The hottest May on record for the lowcountry ended yesterday with rain. I should sound more excited ( or at least  have put an exclamation point after that first sentence) but sadly it didn’t last long…When I heard the pitter patter of rain a little after four o’clock yesterday afternoon I literally ran outside and threw my arms open to the skies…it was pouring-I was elated!… and then it wasn’t. I was sad.

I think the weather news should have read...”It’s Raining, It’s Pouring…It’s Stopped!” We got about two five minute rain bursts and then the sun came back out…I felt like crying. I wanted it to rain and rain and rain and rain. At least we discovered that our clouds haven’t forgotten how…but they sure were stingy.

So until tomorrow…Let’s remember to be seeds of happiness for others and not sow seeds of discord and discontent…we see too much of that in this old world…we need to plant more seeds for inspiration and creativity!

Good-bye May and hardy flower survivors..June…please be kinder…and cooler than May…if not Charleston might drop from being the number one vacation destination to number 100…a desert drought ghost town.

Don’t forget to say rabbit- we need all the luck we can get as June 1 rolls in...Perhaps also (depending on where you live)…either “rain” or “sunshine“… the crazy weather pattern this summer appears to be either feast or famine in our country.

*Anne…do you remember this rabbit you adopted and made a home for at your house…how proud he was by a moon flower bloom?

Dear Reader:

Are you like millions of us who are wondering ….’Is it just me…or does time seem to be going faster and faster?‘ Research tells us, due to continuously evolving technology, people today are experiencing living in the “fastest times our lives have ever moved.”

As I arrived back home, after my medical appointment yesterday and running some errands, Hallmark Home & Family hosts, Debbie Matenopoulos and Cameron Mathison  were interviewing the author of Time Cleanse, Steven Griffith. The interview had already started but what first got my attention was…Griffith’s assignment (he had given each host) to share what smart phone device consumes too much personal time from their daily lives.

Debbie said it was definitely social media…and especially at night before she goes to bed. She thinks she is just going to check out a few people on Facebook she knows….but then looks up an hour later…exhausted…and now unable to go to sleep because she is mad at herself for the loss of time. (Science says that iPhones keep us awake because of the light in them…throwing off our sleep cycle…we should not wait until we are ready to go to bed…to look at our iPhones.)

Cameron says it is checking emails…especially work emails. He finds himself getting up earlier and earlier each morning to get this daily agenda item done…(thinking how smart he is to do this before he goes to work) but he is now sleeping less and exhausted by the time he arrives at work.

The number one excuse today in our country (as to why we didn’t get something important accomplished)…is “I ran out of time.” Griffith suggests we all go on the “time excuse” diet…For one week we are not allowed to use any “time excuses” for not getting something done. This forces us to make better decisions and start taking control of our lives/time rather than acting like victims…and making  time out to be the bully. We need to regain the power.

We, also, need to start re-examining our choices of how we use our time and discover what time choices are giving us the best return for the amount of time given.

When one woman did the “time excuse” diet…she discovered that it was her college-age daughter who was slipping through the cracks. So she scheduled a surprise visit and took her to NYC for the weekend for a mother-daughter “reunion.” They both agreed it was the best time they had ever spent together. Now both of them will always have those cherished memories of the trip. She had gotten the very best return of time from her choice of using time wisely for what was most important in her life. Her daughter.

The iPhone hijacks our time…like the Sirens of old…luring us deeper and deeper into another world that has little to do with our own personal sense of fulfillment. We need to learn what is contributing to our overall sense of happiness and what is contaminating it. If it is too much technology…then some serious cut-backs are in order.

By putting this magnet on the back of my iPhone…it reminds me every time I pick it up…to think…is this call or text or email worth the time I will use to perform it?…If it is corresponding with friends and family, loved ones, then probably yes…peeking at total strangers’ and so-so acquaintances’ lives…no!

It was Rutledge who reminded me of this one day when I was with him ….I had taken some pictures of the grandchildren and was doing some editing…while “listening” to what he was telling me…but he knew it wasn’t my full attention. He finally said, “Boo Boo …will you put your phone up so we can talk.” A well- deserved stab in the heart… Ouch!…Editing can wait…the present moment can’t. I can never get that precious conversation back.

So until tomorrow…Let’s all make a list of the ‘time toxins” that are robbing us of living a more purposeful and fulfilling life and then let them go…or at least limit their control over our time…life is short…talking (face to face in the present) with loved ones takes precedence over everything.

“Today is my favorite day”  Winnie the Pooh

Update: Still waiting to hear back from Gin-g…but Brooke came through her surgery like a champ…home by lunch time and already going to the bathroom by herself and staying ahead of the pain with her meds…she did great.

My liver tests came back  “normal” … so no damage has been done to date (while changing oral chemo drugs)…and I got some help with my stomach issues that have plagued me since switching drugs….I am hopeful this will take care of that problem. I want to be able to enjoy spreads like the one Anne made for me. Beautiful salad and deviled eggs! 🙂

Gaining control of technology before it completely controls our lives made me remember Mary Oliver’s beautiful prose about life.

Dear Reader:

As everything in my yard and garden is starting to wither away… my succulents…named appropriately the “Crown of Thorns” can take the 100 plus heat with drought and keep on keeping on. In hindsight if any of us could have even imagined the month before summer, May, breaking all kinds of 100 plus records…(still weeks away from official summer)…I think we would have planted all succulents this year.

The plant gets its common name from the legend that the thorny crown worn by Jesus at his crucifixion was made from sections of this plant. The crown of thorns  hails from Madagascar.

I got these yellow Crown of Thorns last year and they easily survived the winter and were the first blooming back in the spring…now they are the only ones, besides my rose bush, that is not wilting away in the oppressive heat that keeps us weak mortals inside….ridiculously and dangerously hot. Charleston broke a record for 100 plus four straight days…the hottest May ever recorded.

However it is not this plant that I wanted to talk about today but the reason why none of us are spared the “thorns in our sides” as we go through life. Haven’t we either used or heard this expression many times.

The origin behind this idiom goes back to scripture.

 If someone or something is a thorn in your side or a thorn in the side, they continually annoy you or cause trouble for you.  Example: She has become a thorn in the side of the government since publishing a number of reports pointing out that public cash was being wasted.

Note: You can also say that someone or something is a thorn in your flesh or a thorn in the flesh. Example: Her mother is still a thorn in her flesh — demanding, complaining and whining continuously.

Note: This expression refers to a passage in the Bible, in which St Paul talks about an illness or other problem: `There was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.’ (2 Corinthians 12:7)

Interesting tidbit: Some Pharisees, who were strictly orthodox Jews, used to deliberately hurt themselves by putting thorns in their clothes to prick themselves when they walked.

Here are some shared thoughts by different authors and theologians on why God allows thorns to pierce us in life.

Kimberly Rae, author of Why Doesn’t God Fix it?

“Thorns have a purpose. They keep bugs from climbing the stems to damage or destroy the flower. Our personal thorns, though unwanted, can be used by God to protect us in ways only He knows.”

Charles Spurgeon, Baptist preacher

“Trials teach us what we are, they dig up the soil, and let us see what we are made of…”

Gary Roe, hospice chaplain and author of Comfort for Grieving Hearts.

“No matter what the thorn or where it might come from, one thing is for certain: God never wastes pain and suffering. He is an expert at taking tragedy and using it to produce a harvest of love, faith, and goodness in our lives and hearts.”

Kimberly Ahri, author of The Meaning of Finding Coins: Messages and Spiritual Insights.

“The encounter with a thorn becomes transformative when we choose to view it as a form of guidance, rather than punishment. A poke invites us to take a deep look at our lives and ask, Are we headed in the direction of our best life? When we allow the poke of a thorn to awaken us, it is transformed into a blessing.”

Patrick Riecke, minister and author of 101 Ways to Find Meaning in Suffering (excerpt)

“…The bloom doesn’t erase the thorn. Conversely, the thorn cannot destroy the bloom. Pain can not destroy love. In grief pain and love are welded together.”

So until tomorrow….Thorns protect us, let us see what we are made of, produce love and goodness in our hearts, lead us in the right direction, and weld pain and love together as one. The poke of a thorn can transform hurt into a blessing.

“Today is my favorite day”  Winnie the Pooh

We don’t have a street lamp on Rainbow Road so it is pretty dark at night… Luke and Chelsey decided to add solar flood lights to their front yard and huge oak tree while I added solar lanterns along the fence by the driveway…and a solar lantern attached to the chapel of hope bird feeder.

Dear Reader:

Unless we have won the lottery, don’t most of us dislike daily interruptions…like solicitor’s calls, long-winded great aunt Phoebe, canned reminders of this or that appointment still weeks away, or a stomach virus  call from school about your child preceding  a long-planned, exciting family holiday…the list could go on and on.

If we are honest with ourselves…these mildly to deeply annoying interruptions don’t have as much to do with the interruption itself but losing control of our well-planned life. And it is just not man-made interruptions that leave us pouting, but also God-directed interruptions.

Because I was anxious to finish the Mitford series…I ended up purchasing a few books from the series myself rather than wait on the next one from a friend who out of town on vacation. So I ended up with about four books from the series. I decided to organize them and put them up the other day.

As I was putting this particular book up a book marker was sticking out of it…when I turned towards the page where it was located I saw where I had underlined a sentence that read:

“We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.”

I started reminiscing how challenging it must be for God to grab my (or anyone else’s) attention. For me it took being brought down to the deepest, darkest corridors of fear…my original breast cancer diagnosis and subsequent scary treatments (chemo, radiation, and several surgeries.) It was only then that God’s interruption was not only welcomed but appreciated beyond measure.

It made me start thinking about how Jesus must have felt with the people’s interruptions on his sparse and precious time here on earth… to get so much done in such a small amount of time. Surely the mortal part of Jesus must have felt irritation at so many interruptions…I was wrong.

As I researched this topic two incidences were mentioned in scripture concerning examples of interruptions that would have driven any of us to distraction…but not Jesus.

Jesus Interrupted

I can’t help but marvel at how Jesus handled interruptions. Take the story told in Matthew 14, when Jesus finds out about John the Baptist’s beheading. Jesus is saddened by the news. He wants to be alone. So what does He do? He gets in the boat and starts on a journey to get some solace and relief.

But Jesus’ solace is soon interrupted. A large crowd gets word of His plan, and the people make it to the other side in order to wait for Him.

Imagine Jesus as He nears the shore and catches a glimpse of thousands of people waiting to meet Him. Most of us would be frustrated at the sight. We’d probably decide it best to send away the crowds. Or maybe we’d stay in the boat and go somewhere else.

But that’s not Jesus’ response. He’s not frustrated. Matthew says he felt compassion for the people.

Compassion?

Yep. While I’m busy figuring out a way I can keep control, Jesus is thinking of how He can show compassion. He doesn’t throw a pity party for Himself. Instead, He puts others first. What would stir up frustration in us stirs up compassion in Him!

Source: Life’s Interruptions are Divine Opportunities (Trevin Wax)

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…”Sweat trickled down the backs of Jesus and his disciples. The crowd pressed close as the people pushed and shoved to get a better look at the Savior, the wonder worker. A man named Jairus, a synagogue ruler and father of a twelve-year-old girl, dropped at Jesus’ feet, begging him to come and heal his dying daughter.

The man was frantic. He knew his daughter’s life was hanging in the balance. Why wouldn’t the people step aside and allow Jesus to get to his house? Even minutes could mean the difference between life and death. Jesus inched his way through the crowd, but the pressing only increased.

Suddenly Jesus stopped in the middle of the road. The father frowned, wringing his hands and looking at the crowd as if searching for someone – anyone – to urge the people out of the way. All he could think of was his daughter’s life. 

…But if Jesus didn’t hurry, He would have nothing but sorrow – and a daughter dead before her time.

Then Jesus spoke gently but firmly. “Who touched me?”

The disciples looked at one another in disbelief. “Not me,” each said. They reminded Jesus that the crowd was like a sea around them. There were probably many who bumped into Jesus. It couldn’t be helped.

But Jesus’ words contained a greater meaning: “Someone touched me: I know that power has gone out from me.” Not only did someone touch Jesus, that person touched his power intentionally. And Jesus knew it instantly.

Finally, a woman fell at Jesus’ feet. For twelve years she had suffered from hemorrhaging. No doctors had helped. She was not only poor, but a social outcast who could never be considered “clean” and whole. And her condition had only worsened.

But touching the Master had brought the desired results. Something had happened to her, so she admitted the truth.

Jesus honored the faith of the woman and granted total healing. She could then return “in peace,” freed from her emotional, physical, and spiritual suffering (Mark 5:34).

But the distraught father had not found freedom. His emotions were still tied in knots. Then a messenger arrived, announcing it was too late. His daughter was dead. The woman’s interruption had cost Jairus his daughter’s life. “Why bother the teacher any more?” cried the messenger above the alarming wails of the crowd (Mark 5:35).

But to Jesus, life had no real interruptions. Not really. Oh, there were things that seemed like interruptions .

But interruptions? Not to Jesus. Interruptions represented people. And people were his business. People were his purpose. Interruptions spelled opportunities to display his Father’s great power and love.

And in the grander scheme of things, interruptions never slowed Jesus down or aborted his purpose. Which would represent the greater miracle to the father and his family: healing the girl’s sickness or raising her from the dead? “The child is not dead but asleep,” Jesus said to the crowd of mourners at the man’s home (Mark 5:39). They erupted in laughter. But Jesus simply continued the work he had come to do, restoring the lost, healing the sick, glorifying his Father in whatever means that interruption afforded. And the girl lived again.

One can only wonder at Jesus’ deeper meaning. Even death is only an interruption, not the end of life as we know it.

Source: Book Excerpt: The God of Interruptions- Rebecca Barlow Jordan

So until tomorrow… “The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own,’ or ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life — the life God is sending us day by day.”

“Today is my favorite day”  Winnie the Pooh

Sometimes “interruptions” are the best parts of the day…for example yesterday I was watering my garden early in the morning and two morning glories unfolded themselves right before my very eyes….a sign of a doubly beautiful day. And it was!

I remember reading in some of my cancer pamphlets after I was first diagnosed with breast cancer…that the cancer journey can be best perceived as a “detour.” They were right…a detour that I am still on to this day…but this detour…this permanent interruption has given me more gifts of understanding the deeper, more meaningful parts of life  than any time preceding my diagnosis. I am richer for it.

Tomorrow two important medical interruptions are occurring for Brooke and Gin-g. At six=thirty tomorrow morning Brooke will get her rotator cusp/ligament fixed and May 30 is also Gin-g’s surgery she has been tested and probed …for … so long.

Our wish girls…is that these interruptions will bring back comfort and joy into your lives….

Love you….I know Brooke and Gin-g would appreciate your prayers as the days of waiting finally come to fruition.

Dear Reader:

When I think back to the first time I was cognizant of the word “freedom” it came only after I had felt it as a child in the form of summer.

Didn’t the days seem endless back then? No homework, tests, projects, early morning routines getting books packed, breakfasts eaten, and buses met. Instead all these stressful daily routines were replaced with sleeping in,  swim suits, lemonade, camps, new friendships, and playing until dusk… which in the summer meant 9:00.

Maybe it was because the days were so long that in my mind…in the early grades… I thought we went to school six months and then had summer for six months. Imagine my disappointment when I figured out hours, days, months, and seasons….how time worked in life…and realized we had been cheated. Nine months of school and only three months of summer freedom. Unfair!

Summer for children is magic. It is boundless and goes on forever in our memories of childhood.

As we get older freedom becomes defined differently for different situations. Joanna Gaines (Magnolia) in her letter from the editor describes the ever-changing meaning this way:

“Freedom can take on entirely unique meanings. We learn that freedom is subjective, what it means to be free for one person doesn’t necessarily equate to freedom for another. For some, freedom is perceived as a kind of rebellion. At times it might even look reckless. Or it can looks like the opposite of reckless. It can look like taking control. ” 

When I look around my happy room today…it is this last definition (taking control) that has freed me more than anything else. But first I had to free myself from the fear of change, of taking risks, and letting the world see me through the environment I built around myself.

…Leaving fear behind to learn how to manage finances on my own, create a garden that provides me with a sanctuary and most importantly… leaving the past behind, stepping outside my comfort zone to re-decorate my home in a whimsical style that is my own unique peek hole for others to look through to discover the real me.

So until tomorrow…Let Freedom Ring…in Every Way Possible! Let Freedom afford everyone the chance to be free to be you and me.

“Today is my favorite day”

Winnie the Pooh

What way to end Memorial Day…with a patriotic sunset and a grilled hamburger with all the trimming/pasta, corn pie… courtesy of Luke and Chelsey. I love my Rainbow Road special neighbors…can’t imagine life without any of them! Thank you so much for the delicious surcie supper Luke and Chelsey!

Dear Reader:

When I came across this Guidepost Memorial Day Remembrance story it took me back in time. One thing I am very glad about is that I don’t have to be a teenager again…in this life time. Isn’t it one of the most difficult confusing stages in a person’s life? (And not just for the teenager…but everyone else around him/her.)

Suddenly being seen with family is not “cool”…but trying to fit in with the “scene” in a world according to other teenagers is no picnic either. This crazy, mixed-up time in our lives can send us swirling in many different directions simultaneously. If it is bewildering to our family (wondering what happened to this person they thought they knew) it is equally as trying to the teenager living it. Thank goodness it doesn’t last too long in the big picture…neither the one living through it or their loves ones could take much more.

In our true story today…one sixteen-year-old girl is pouting because she can’t go hang out with the crowd at the lake on Memorial Day…instead everyone in her family is expected to attend the town’s parade and support their grandmother who lost a young son in World War II…simply known to her, vaguely, as Uncle Bud.

The teenager distances herself from being seen with her family and partially hides behind an oak tree where hopefully no will recognize her in the crowd. She hides her ten cent Benjamin Franklin dime store American flag…it looks too silly and juvenile.

It isn’t until she is back home amid all the usual special meals and festivities (baseball games) going on that she comes across the true meaning of freedom and sacrifice through her beloved grandmother. She discovers the meaning of the word “Hero.”

(Excerpts from: Memorial Day: A Time for Heroes– Nancy Sullivan Geng)

…”Mema,” I asked, “what’s a hero?” Without a word she turned and walked down the hall to the back bedroom. I followed.

She opened a bureau drawer and took out a small metal box, then sank down onto the bed.

“These are Bud’s things,” she said. “They sent them to us after he died.” She opened the lid and handed me a telegram dated October 13, 1944. “The Secretary of State regrets to inform you that your son, Lloyd Heitzman, was killed in Italy.”

Your son! I imagined Mema reading that sentence for the first time. I didn’t know what I would have done if I’d gotten a telegram like that.

“Here’s Bud’s wallet,” she continued. Even after all those years, it was caked with dried mud. Inside was Bud’s driver’s license with the date of his sixteenth birthday. I compared it with the driver’s license I had just received.

A photo of Bud holding a little spotted dog fell out of the wallet. Jiggs. Bud looked so pleased with his mutt.

There were other photos in the wallet: a laughing Bud standing arm in arm with two buddies, photos of my mom and aunt and uncle, another of Mema waving. This was the home Uncle Bud took with him, I thought.

I could see him in a foxhole, taking out these snapshots to remind himself of how much he was loved and missed.

“Who’s this?” I asked, pointing to a shot of a pretty dark-haired girl.

“Marie. Bud dated her in high school. He wanted to marry her when he came home.” A girlfriend? Marriage? How heartbreaking to have a life, plans and hopes for the future, so brutally snuffed out.

Sitting on the bed, Mema and I sifted through the treasures in the box: a gold watch that had never been wound again. A sympathy letter from President Roosevelt, and one from Bud’s commander. A medal shaped like a heart, trimmed with a purple ribbon. And at the very bottom, the deed to Mema’s house.

“Why’s this here?” I asked.

“Because Bud bought this house for me.” She explained how after his death, the U.S. government gave her 10 thousand dollars, and with it she built the house she was still living in. He had always promised me that one day he would build me a house…and he did…only in a different way than we thought. 

“He kept his promise all right,” Mema said in a quiet voice I’d never heard before.

For a long while the two of us sat there on the bed. Then we put the wallet, the medal, the letters, the watch, the photos and the deed back into the metal box. I finally understood why it was so important for Mema—and me—to remember Uncle Bud on this day.

If he’d lived longer he might have built that house for Mema or married his high-school girlfriend. There might have been children and grandchildren to remember him by.

As it was, there was only that box, the name in the program and the reminiscing around the kitchen table.

“I guess he was a hero because he gave everything for what he believed,” I said carefully.

“Yes, child,” Mema replied, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. “Don’t ever forget that.”

I haven’t. Even today with Mema gone, my husband and I take our lawn chairs to the tree-shaded boulevard on Memorial Day and give our three daughters small American flags that I buy for a quarter now at Ben Franklin.

I want them to remember that life isn’t just about getting what you want. Sometimes it involves giving up the things you love for what you love even more. That many men and women did the same for their country—that’s what I think when I see the parade pass by now.

And if I close my eyes and imagine, I can still see Mema in her regal purple hat, proudly waving down at the family from the float, honoring her son, a true American hero.

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So until tomorrow…“Sometimes when you sacrifice something precious, you’re not really losing it. You’re just passing it on to someone else.”
― Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven

“Today is my favorite day”  Winnie the Pooh

In record breaking temperatures…100 degrees in Summerville and very close in Mt. Pleasant…on this Memorial Day the celebration must go on and go on it did! All the small flags were gone Saturday as I hunted for them for the grandchildren and finally I found four headbands with flags and I took four hero red noses from Walgreens to represent the heroes who died for our country on this special day of remembrance. Even the dogs got in the fun. And we did have fun!

(PS Neither dog was about to pass out from thirst…they both had bad experiences in a puppy mill and lost all their teeth so their tongue falls out….but now they both have a loving home with Tommy and Kaitlyn!)

Dear Reader:

When I went back out yesterday the second bud on the Mr. Lincoln’s Rose bush had opened and was beautiful. The bloom from Friday, however, had already spotted up (white spots) and lost its deep deep beauty. Someone told me it was probably the heat….since we have been in the mid-nineties unfortunately.

So I decided to go ahead and cut the new bloom off so I could enjoy it for as long as possible inside. I, then started looking at the history behind the choice to give this particular tea rose hybrid the name of a famous President….two rose growers made this choice in 1964…when the centennial remembrance of the Civil War was in the news a lot.

What lead also to the name was the fact that this particularly rose shoots up straight and tall quickly and can grow several feet if left alone. Lincoln, of course, was our tallest President and known for his tall, lean frame. The feel of luscious velvet (another dominant characteristic) also refers back to Lincoln’s love of velvet dresses that women wore to the White House dances. He once told Mary he liked to feel that texture when they danced.

The most important attribute, however, is the scent. When I read that fact, at first I was sad because I had not picked up on a fragrance. With all the cancer treatments I have had over the years I have lost a substantial amount of smell. But now I held the rose right up to my nose and was blown away. The most exquisite fragrance that I have ever had the pleasure of sniffing. I can’t even describe it…it is just that amazing.

One article described the fragrance this way….‘Mr. Lincoln’ has an outstandingly strong damask fragrance that seduces the senses.”

Dave’s Garden describes it as the “most luscious heavenly scent.” (*If heaven does smell like that….count me in.)

While researching I accidentally came across the sweetest story of a love between husband and wife and how the Mr. Lincoln Rose played a major role in keeping their love “alive.”

Excerpts from story: Mr. Lincoln’s Rose (told by Margaret Williams)

• This story, told by Margaret Williams was written in tribute to her beloved husband, Daniel, who shared her love of gardening with equal enthusiasm.

“Though we loved them all, our favorite rose bush was our Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln produced the most fragrant red blooms imaginable. It was always cause for celebration when Mr. Lincoln produced his first rose of the season. We would cut it and ceremoniously carry it into the house to be put in a place of honor. For days we would ooh and ahh over the rose as it filled our home with fragrance.

Mr. Lincoln’s last bloom usually came around the end of October. The other bushes had all stopped producing by then, so his bloom was cause for much nostalgia. We’d cut the rose and bring it to our table and enjoy it even while the petals fell. Then we knew we’d have to wait until April for another.

The last ten years we had together were very beautiful. We greatly enjoyed each other’s company. When the winter rains and cold would keep us inside, Daniel would read to me. We didn’t like watching TV or movies and preferred the quiet of a comfortable corner where Daniel would read. Sometimes he read to me from gardening books; sometimes he’d pick a biography of a great person, and sometimes we would get engrossed in a mystery. It didn’t matter what he read, I just loved sitting there and listening to his soothing and compassionate voice.

Daniel complained of some pains in his chest, but we didn’t think much of them. One evening towards the end of October, he had a massive heart attack and died before the paramedics could come to our remote country house. I didn’t even get a chance to say good-by.

The next morning I walked out in the garden. Mr. Lincoln had produced his last rose of the season that morning. “This is for Daniel,” I thought. I picked the rose and brought it into the house, placing it by my favorite picture of my beloved.

Daniel was my mate for life. His absence was a great loss to me. We were always side by side in every aspect of life. So, in the time after his passing, I felt totally alone. My children and grandchildren were very supportive and all wanted me to stay at their houses so I wouldn’t feel so alone. I preferred to be alone in my home. It was here I could better remember my husband.

The winter was long and hard that year. Nights would find me sitting in Daniel’s chair, reading to myself. The sadness and grief of my loss grew stronger and stronger, like a choking weed in our beloved garden. “If only I knew that Daniel was close to me now,” I sadly thought, “Then I would be able to bear the pain and loneliness.”

Finally one February night, I cried out asking for assurance that Daniel was close. My heart was breaking from my loss. I wiped my tears and sat in Daniel’s chair, remembering every special quality about him. Suddenly I began to smell the very faint fragrance of a Mr. Lincoln rose.

“That’s odd,” I thought, “I must be imagining this.”

I got up and walked around our house. It was cold and rainy outside and there were no flowers anywhere in the house. I returned to Daniel’s chair and the scent grew stronger, making it clear that this was definitely not my imagination. I felt myself surrounded by the fragrance of Mr. Lincoln’s finest roses.

Then I knew without a doubt, this was Daniel’s way of letting me know that he was still close to me. Of course, I smiled to myself, what a perfectly logical way for Daniel to let his presence be known to me. It was, after all, our favorite scent. My beloved husband and dearest friend had never left me. He is by my side, loving me still.

The amazing thing is that the scent of Mr. Lincoln’s roses stayed in our home for a full week. My children all came and smelled for themselves and received a reassurance of their dad’s presence. After our last child had come and smelled the fragrance, the scent gradually faded as mysteriously as it had come.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

So until tomorrow….“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
From an Irish headstone”
― Richard Puz –  The Carolinian

“Today is my favorite day”  Winnie the Pooh

I can keep the flowers alive with lots of watering but the bushes are drying up…the poor azaleas leaves are completely wilted…and nothing in sight but sun and high nineties….we need rain desperately!

• Got a wonderful surprise in the mail…a book…a picture book…as in an album book of three of my grandchildren…Rutledge, Lachlan, and Eloise. How far we have come from the taped on pictures in old photo albums we had as children and parents of children. The books are so cool and so easy as a keepsake! Thanks Dingles!

Dear Reader:

As I rode by Hutchinson Square Friday morning…my eyes lit up with joy! The most beautiful sight beheld me… dozens of gorgeous pastel umbrellas filled the lawn in the park area. I couldn’t wait to find out what was going on!

So I parked my car and talked to a wonderful lady, Paulette, who informed me it was a tribute to all of us, the living, to remind us just how precious life is. She works with AGAPE Hospice. When she finished telling me about her work…I remembered Kelly Rae Roberts (Kindness Can Change Everything) poster and sincerely told her….“I see you, I honor you, and you are not alone.” 

She was quite touched and explained..each umbrella represented someone who had recently passed but also it symbolized their life and the lives of the loved ones left behind. We are never alone in life or death. (As beautiful as each umbrella!)

It made me remember what my weekly Spotlight on Kindness website  said:

(Editor’s Note) …“We amplify what we give space to. If our focus is always on what is wrong, then we amplify the negative. While media tries to focus us on what is wrong in the world to grab our attention, we must now not lose focus on all that is right and good in our communities. Let’s pay attention to the good! ” 

(David Brooks-journalist) The Big Story You Don’t Read About 

“A lot of American journalism is based on a mistaken theory of change…”The world will get better when we show where things have gone wrong. A lot of what we do in our business is expose error, cover problems and identify conflict. 

The problem with this is that we leave people feeling dis-empowered and depressed. These days most Americans have sunk into a “toxic vortex” ….terrified of the future…and literally frozen…not knowing what to do…so fearful we have become less mobilized to take action, not more. 

Problems can certainly be exposed…but there should also be time left in the programs to describe how the problems are being tackled… the search for solutions is always more exciting than the problems themselves. 

Politics should only influence and in hindsight does…10% of our lives…the most important social change events happening are the 90% of our lives influenced by relationship and community. 

News casts should be 90% focused on great solutions being discovered and implemented within our communities and 10% on politics and world news…(those broadcasts that tend to leave us frustrated and completely underwhelmed by the seemingly inability to make positive changes for the people…we the people.) 

So when we come across examples of people in our own community like Agape Hospice...taking time to demonstrate and explain their services and their kindness to our loved ones in their final days….we should applaud the implementations of such positive outreach programs. These are the programs that will affect just about everyone and every family at some point in their lives.

So until tomorrow…”Power to the People…We, the People“…who can spend 90% of our lives reaching out to help others in our communities here and afar. We actually have a much better success rate at helping people than our 10% political counterparts.

“Today is my favorite day”  Winnie the Pooh

Guess who bloomed today…my “Mr. Lincoln” rose with another bud about to pop…probably tomorrow. So beautiful! Look at my sanctuary’s beauty, inside and out, that comforts, consoles, and lifts me up every day of my life.

Dear Reader:

Over the last three days both Anne and Cindy have excitedly “messengered” me to let me know that while we wait for Louise Penny’s latest detective book to arrive August 27 (the 15th in the series)…Penny has taken the time to go back to the first book in the series (Still Life– copyrighted in 2005) to analyze her own writing and share her new thoughts while re-reading what she first created.

In doing so Penny surprised herself at the direction the characters evolved and the seemingly subtle but far-reaching metamorphosis that the little town of Three Pines undergoes. Basically Penny discovers that the characters and story line take on a ‘life of their own.’

Was it really that long ago when the whole Gamache Detective Series began with a “bang” literally? 2005? A seventy-six year old woman is found dead in a tiny town with no plausible reason why…especially when it becomes obvious from the clues…it was no accident but intentional homicide… And thus the famous Chief Inspector Armand Gamache of the Surete du Quebec is called in and life in Three Pines will never return to its original, pre-existing state again.

From Pg. 1:
Miss Jane Neal met her maker in the early morning mist of Thanksgiving Sunday. It was pretty much a surprise all round. Miss Neal’s was not a natural death, unless you’re of the belief everything happens as it’s supposed to. If so, for her seventy-six years Jane Neal had been walking toward this final moment when death met her in the brilliant maple woods on the verge of the village of Three Pines. She’d fallen spread-eagled, as though making angels in the bright and brittle leaves.

Louise’s Thoughts:
First line of first book. This wasn’t how it originally started. Still Life first started with Jane waking up and making breakfast, but then I realized I wanted to start with both her death, then get to know her life. And I also wanted a very clear, immediate sense of place and season.

Boo’s Thoughts: What immediately attracted me to the book was death arriving so quickly and unexpectedly to an older woman character surrounded with so much beauty. The oxymoron of a violent death amid the beauty of life instilled in me the desire to not put the book down until I had read it all….(it actually took me two days of straight reading to accomplish this…and I was hooked.) I couldn’t get to the next novel in the series fast enough!

* There is another cryptic message in this next passage that I had never contemplated, yet I love its deeper meaning.

From Pg. 27:
‘Three Pines … Three Pines,’ he (Gamache) repeated, as he tried to find it. ‘Could it be called something else?’ he asked himself, unable for the first time with this detailed map to find a village. ‘Trois Pins, perhaps?’ No, there was nothing

Louise’s Thoughts:
I’d searched most of my life for ‘home’ and when I found it in Quebec, it felt like magic. It was so important to me to bring that sense of belonging, of Fate, of gentle magic to Three Pines, right off the bat. That it was only ever found by people lost.

Boo’s Thoughts:

Don’t we spend our whole life looking for a place on earth we can call home before we go to our eternal one? And haven’t we all felt the pull of a place that seems to be calling us home to it?

I feel this way with Tommy and Kaitlyn’s annual sojourn to Ireland ….it definitely keeps bringing them back to a place where they are discovering new things about themselves and each other outwardly and inwardly. The pull is so strong that they are willing to sacrifice and save from the time they return back to Charleston each year until they return to Ireland in May. They have found something special.

I felt this same pull for the Lowcountry when I left the Piedmont (red-clay) area of Laurens….and now Summerville is the place that will always be home to me… while on my earthly visit.

*Many of the characters in the Louise Penny series will actually feel the magnetic pull of Three Pines and make it their own home….unknowingly they were ‘lost but now are found.‘

The last example I will share with you is for all you readers who might be thinking that these books sounds too serious and the clues too complex to want to deal with…especially when summer romances are calling. Let me assure you that there is lots of subtle humor in the series, made even funnier by the bizarre circumstances surrounding the humor.

From Pg. 82:
‘They are four sentences we learn to say, and mean.’ Gamache held up his hand as a fist and raised a finger with each point. ‘I don’t know. I need help. I’m sorry. And one other.’ Gamache thought for a moment but couldn’t bring it to mind. ‘I forget. But we’ll talk more about it tonight, right?’

‘Right, sir. And thank you.’ Oddly enough, she realised she meant it.

After Gamache had left, Nichol brought out her note­book. She hadn’t wanted to take notes while he was talking. She figured it would make her look foolish. Now she quickly wrote: I’m sorry, I don’t know, I need help, I forget.

Louise’s Thoughts:
This brings back memories on so many levels. When asked in live reading events to recite the four sentences, Penny admits that she almost always forgets one, as Gamache does here.

Those sentences came from the very first time I met Michael. He opened a meeting by reciting them, and I thought….what an extraordinary man. But, on another level, in the book, I knew I wanted some humor, and it just seemed so human, and yet silly, that Nichol would think ‘I forget’ is a sentence that leads to wisdom.

Boo’s Thoughts:

I wish Penny hadn’t written that last sentence…because (like what Nichol wrote) if “I forget” was a sentence that could lead to wisdom…I would be so very very wise!: 🙂

So until tomorrow..

“Today is my favorite day” Winnie the Pooh

I finally got to see Jakie’s end of the year program…normally the Ya’s have been at the beach that week but since we went early I got to go. Jakie was adorable…oblivious to the two little girls (one on each side) nervously swishing their dresses.

Sorry the photos are a little blurry…had to keep enlarging from our seating location in the large chapel at the Citadel Square Baptist church.

Photos- Left to right

Jakie -found himself in the middle of the stage between two little precious girls who nervously whished their little dresses up more and more as the program continued…In this first picture Jakie ignored them when he found all of us in the crowd and grinned.

Jakie’s forte was jumping higher than anybody else during one song they performed about a frog.

At last he was taller than the girls!

.

He remembered his line of scripture but got confused when they counted by 10’s and he was supposed to be 90… he simply repeated the scripture again…and the little girl to his right went on with her line…the big conclusion 100! (after giving him a stare…like..why did you say that????)

The little girl to his left had her dress so hiked up by the end of the performance…Jakie did only what any gentleman would do…he put on his hand blinders to cover his red face!

Pre-School End-of-the -Year performances…they keep you chuckling till the next year’s performance.