Change

We are going to try a bit different way of handling our blogs. To find all the blogs you can simply click HERE.

For Pat's blog click HERE.

For Patti's blog click HERE.

The book website is http://www.fourordinarywomen.com.

Check there often for special events and surprises.

To order the book click HERE.

Autumn and Mom

by Pat Antonopoulos

My mother accepted the change from wife to widow with great grace. Within a year of Dad's death, Mom sold the home and moved into an apartment becoming the independent woman. Granted, the apartment was not far from the family home and from my sister who lived a few houses down the block. Mom created her card playing social circle, continued to sew and read, and became the unofficial 'ear' for the other women in the apartment. Mom listened and helped.

When Mom's car had more scraps and dents than Maaco wanted to tackle....when the concrete curbs and telephone poles were marked with red auto paint....when Pete, the mechanic, could no longer accept her business...the time had come. We had to sell her car.

Time isn't gentle and Mom's decline went far too quickly. She left the apartment for assisted living. Even after she was moved to the locked-door Alzheimer wing of the facility, Mom continued to enjoy going 'for a ride' often asking that we circle Wyandotte County Lake where she and Dad had enjoyed fishing. She loved the Fall colors. She loved the search for Bittersweet to decorate her night stand. Often, she wanted the window down so she could smell the dampness.

Eventually, the rides to the lake would end almost before they began. We would get to the Manor's parking lot exit ramp and Mom would say it was time to go home now...before it got to dark to see any more colors. Mom thought we had already looked at the spill-way where she always remembered the stories of Mark's climbing escapades. She thought we had looked at the beautiful oranges, yellows and reds that she called
nature's best.

I miss her. I miss the way she was before dementia took her. And I miss the woman she became when she looked at me with uncomprehending eyes. Not that she didn't know me. She did. But she didn't know her place in this world. She seemed so sad and lost. I do miss her.

But Mom never lost nature's best colors. That might be why this time of year feels so soft and looks so glorious...and why my face is wet with memory.

Hair Standing on End....Calendar Overload

by

Patti Dickinson

What was I thinking?  I have been living by the school-year-calendar for so long that I think of quarters, semesters, and school's end.  Time off in the summer....from lost library books, forgotten field trip permission slips, the occasional detention (and that would require me ad libbing a convincing lecture when the detention slip is presented for a parental signature), conferences and all the other things that go hand-in-hand with having one/two/three/four kids involved in elementary/middle/high school.  Last night was pretty typical for May.  A kid that needed to be at a swim practice, and a kid that needed his parents at the high school tennis banquet.  This was after a day that required my presence in the six-month dental chair, a run to the grocery store to get the ingredients for a meat/vegetable for the banquet. Today was a mammogram and an eye doctor appointment.  Follow that by a Journalism Banquet, in the same cafeteria where we sat last night for the tennis banquet!!!  (As an aside....my husband and I are both doing Weight Watchers.....throw that idea out the window.  Have you ever been to a high school banquet?  Fried chicken, creamy, cheesy, sour cream laden potatoes, and cake.  I have no more Weight Watcher points left.....for the WEEK!!!)

And so the school year draws to a close.  And in the coming weeks we will attend two of our kids' graduations...one from high school and one from college.  Endings and new beginnings. But first, we will savor the summer....flip flops, sun sprinkled faces and time to spend together as a family, uninterrupted by the have-to's.  I'm ready.  

Grandpa's Arms

by

Patti Dickinson

Just the other day my daughter Elizabeth came over for a visit with her daughter, Piper. Elizabeth is eight months pregnant with our fourth grandchild.  Piper went over to the kitchen window and saw our newly hammered-to-the-tree birdhouse.  She walked over to my husband, Wood and said, "Birdhouse"?  He took her hand, arranged her poncho and took her outside.  I watched from the window.  They walked hand-in-hand out to the tree, and he stooped to pick her up to allow her to look inside the house.  Just a few solitary moments together outside.  A grandpa and his granddaughter.  

Gave me pause....watching this man of mine who I have shared thirty-four years of marriage and raised eight kids with.  I wonder how many times he has bent over and scooped a kid into his arms.  To swing in circles in his arms, to bandage a bloody knee, to read a story, to lull to sleep, to quiet a nightmare, to buckle into a carseat, to haul out of a restaurant when the behavior fell apart.  

Now he is polishing those rusty skills and reinventing himself as a grandfather.