A Glimpse of Dad

I'm flying out to Kansas City one last time. The cancer in Dad's bones has caused such unbearable pain that oral medication is no longer effective. He's now in a place called Hospice House, being kept comfortable thanks to morphine through an IV. He can barely talk. He sleeps a lot. It's almost time.

The following is part of a post I wrote way back in July 2004 while visiting my parents.  There are any number of ways I could describe my father...I could tell you about his love for the Lord, how he pretty much had the entire Bible memorized, quoting Scripture left and right,  and how much he'd remind you of one of those tent-revival preachers when he got on a roll.  Or what a mechanical genius he was (especially in his younger days), so good he could accurately diagnose car problems over the phone.  But what I will say is this:  There was more to him than met the eye.

"For all his love of technology, it would almost be impossible to believe that this is the same man that knows such old-fashioned arts as crocheting and tatting, and yet it's true. Dad made almost every doily they own, as well as a huge tablecloth of such intricate beauty I can hardly imagine how he could've ever had the time to make it as a young man working in a factory forty hours a week. This 350-pound man who used to make teenage boys tremble with fear, the man who used to look almost exactly like Jackie Gleason and exuded the quiet strength of Vito Corleone is currently teaching me how to work a tatting shuttle. The dichotomy astounds me. And though his eyesight is failing and most of his joints are in a constant aching pain, his fingers (huge as they are) are still as nimble and swift at their work as any I've ever seen. Since I play the piano, one might assume that this sort of thing should come easily to me, but it doesn't. I'm just barely starting to get the hang of how to hold the thread and weave the shuttle in and out of its little loops to make the knots just right, but it's going to be a long, slow process of tedious practice before I ever get any better. Dad just makes it all look so easy."

Tatted doily made by Dad

On the Plus Side of Being Negative

Anticipation. Anxiety. How all-consuming those two feelings can be in the short span of three minutes. And then, you screw up your courage, take a deep breath, and look into the mystic portal that has the potential of changing your life forever with a simple sign.

Negative.

Checking. Re-calculating. Waiting. Wondering. Forcing yourself to think about anything except the only thing you can't stop thinking about.

Trying again, with the same result.

Negative.

Unable to accept the answer before you, and all the ramifications of what it means, you search for another explanation. What ifs and maybes swirl through your mind until you find that last straw to grasp. One last chance. One last hope.

Negative.

It's hard for me to believe that, just shy of my forty-second birthday, I've entered perimenopause. So hard, in fact, that it's taken three pregnancy tests to convince me. I'm still reeling a little from it, but I accept it.

Well-meaning people might be tempted to say, "What's the big deal? It's not like you didn't get to have any children." Or maybe even, "Good, you've had enough already!" And to them I would say the only polite response I can think of...

Bite me.

I am thankful to have ever experienced the joy of pregnancy. I'm especially thankful to have had that pleasure six times over. Each and every one of my children is a treasure, and I'm privileged to be their mother. Feeling their lives grow within my body and bringing them forth into the world has been one of, if not the, richest experiences of my life and I'd be lying if I didn't say that I'll miss that.

But it's not just the end of giving life that sits in my stomach like a knot. It's the knowledge that life itself is moving towards its end.

No, I'm not being morbid. I'm not bawling my eyes out in a hysterical fit, crying "My life is over!" But facing the final days of my father, after already losing my mother, puts a spotlight on the fact that our days are but a vapor and time is fleeting. Being ten days late for your period and not being pregnant just drives the point home all that much more.

Yet, the sadness of crossing the threshold between these stages in life is tempered by this reminder, given to me so lovingly by my older and wiser husband:

"We can't grow old together if you never grow old."

There is still much to look forward to, however long God gives me.  Graduations, weddings, grandchildren (I've got the cookie-thing down pat, so that's a plus, right?)  What lies before me is hardly an end, but many more timeless beginnings.  With my loving husband by my side, I can face it all.

With anticipation.

Pigs, Planners and Planes

As if I weren't a busy enough woman already, life has really ratcheted up a notch these past couple of weeks. If I had the talent, I'd write a country/western song about it.

"She's a homeschoolin', home-makin',
Gun-totin', tiller-pushin',
Crop plantin', chicken raisin',
Homesteadin' girrrrrrl....."

See what I mean? Busy, right? But that's not all! Now we're getting ready to add these little critters...

No need to adjust your screen. You're seeing that right...we're getting pigs. Little black piggies. Five of 'em. (You can read more about them here on the farm blog.)  Aren't they cute?

I just wanna scratch behind its little ear, ya know?

(Personally, just between you and me...I hope they don't stay that cute. I can't imagine putting something that adorable in my freezer. Seriously, I've already warned hubby that I will NOT be home on butchering day. The chickens were bad enough.)

So we've been in overdrive getting the pig-barn finished and fencing in the paddock. On top of that, I've re-evaluated our homeschool curricula and made a few changes there. And then there are all the seedlings waiting to be transplanted into the gardens, the greenhouse we're about to build, and another barn section to renovate for housing the Jersey cow we're about to buy (and who do you think's going to get up before dawn to milk the thing, hmmm?)

Lucky for me, I've got this:

Yep, I finally made my own planner. I'm going to make a video post about it soon so you can see how I've incorporated attractiveness and functionality into the pages.  (I knew that whatever I came up with would have to be pretty for me to want to use it, and this fits the bill.  I love it!)

But all that will have to wait until I get back from another visit to Kansas.

No rest for the weary, huh?

Motivated for Life

For over a year (and then some), I've talked off and on about getting back into shape.  But you know how it goes...if I could've lost a pound for every time I did nothing more than talk about it, I'd be one awesome looking chica right about now.

So, I've talked about it.  Once in a while, I've even made a few attempts at getting back into the habit of exercising.  But I've let too many obstacles and excuses stop me from doing what I know I need to do.  And today, I almost gave in again.

The new Pilates DVD I just bought doesn't work.

My left arm is still recovering and hurts if I move it the wrong way.

It's late in the afternoon and I should be doing (fill in whatever household chore here).

I really just want to take a break and sit on the computer for a few minutes.

And as I sat here staring at my computer, I saw my friend Heather on Twitter, and remembered the post she wrote about managing weight-loss challenges.  Then I thought about my friend Angela...she's gone from 190 to 165, on her way down to 135, and is wearing a size 12 now.  When was the last time I wore a 12?!?

And then, I thought about my dad.

All my life, Dad's been a "big" guy.  As far as I know, he's spent most of his adult life in the 300+ pound range.  He was diagnosed with hypertension when I was in grade school, and so began the long, downward spiral of his health.  One prescription led to another, one diagnosis led to another and now he's fighting for his life, being treated by more doctors and taking more pills than I could ever be able to keep track of.  All at the age of sixty-nine.

I thought about members of my extended family I saw while in Kansas City, and how they talked of the various ailments they have and the medications they now take.

And I thought about this picture of myself.

I hate it.  I hate what I've done to myself.  I hate the way my thighs rub together, having a belly that jiggles like Santa Claus, wearing plus-size clothes and looking horrible in them. 

More than that, I can see where this un-healthy lifestyle is headed.  I'm tired all the time.  And that scares me to the core.

So I got up out of my chair, left the excuses, the obstacles and the lies I've been telling myself at the door and hit the road.  I walked and jogged 1.2 miles from my house to the bottom of the road and back again.  It was hard, I was gasping for air long before I got back, my behind still aches and I definitely need better shoes.  But I'm going to do it again tomorrow. And the day after that.  And the day after that. 

I'm saying goodbye now to the excuses, goodbye to the lies and the lazy habits, and goodbye to my extra weight.  Because I don't want to say goodbye to my kids when I'm only sixty-nine.