Christmas Memories

For the greater part of the year, our dining table was my Mother's office.  To remove one scrap of paper from that table, without Mother's permission, was to just beg for trouble.  But, on Christmas, that would change.

When I was very little, both of my Grandmothers made Christmas dinner. However, by the time I was in upper elementary, Mother had begun to have everyone for dinner at our house. Mother set the most beautiful Christmas table.  Red tablecloth with gold thread decoration.  She would put the big candlesticks in the middle and place the turkey at Daddy's end where he could carve it easily. The table had  been set with the china that Grandmother Britton had painted , and the good silver had been brought out. Into my Great Grandmother's green glass compote, Mother would put the cranberry sauce.

The green glass compote came with  something of a story.  There had been two matching compotes.  One had belonged to my Great Grandmother, MeMaw. Her name was Blanche Malone Capps, and she had been my Grandmother Baker' s mother. The other compote was the exact replica, and had been discovered at a second hand store.  For years they had stood at opposite ends of the table.  One was filled with jellied cranberry sauce, the other held the whole berry type.  Well, it's unclear who was responsible but what is known is that one year, when I was in elementary school, one of them had gotten broken.  The question became :  Which one  had been broken?  The junk store compote, or heaven forbid.....MEMAW'S?  My Grandmother decided , based on nothing more than what she wanted to be true , that her Mother's dish  had survived, and the broken one had been the one which had been rescued from Mr. Neely' s second hand store.My Grandmother was good at that positive thinking stuff. If she,wanted something to be true, it was true.  Simple as that.

Back to the table.  Once she had determined that it  was presentable, Mother would light the candles, summon us to gather and call Daddy to get the camera.  Most of the time. there were two many diners and a card table had to be set up in the living room for  overflow. However, for the picture, we would all assemble in the dining room, prepared to say cheese.  My unmarried Uncle, Dick, and if he was between wives, my Uncle Leland.  My Grandparents, Aunt Georgia, Aunt Susie , Aunt Juanita and Uncle Raymond and anyone else who wanted to come.  After dinner, other loved ones , who had eaten in other places would stop by for dessert

The day would end the same way every year. After the turkey had been stripped to the bone, the potatoes, gravy and stuffing eaten, and there was nothing left of the sweet  potatoes but a few crusts of cooked on marshmallow, Daddy would, once again, reach for the camera. He would proceed to photograph the post dinner scenario. It annoyed Mother, I can hear her say 'Oh, Russell' right now as clearly as if she were standing here next to me. I think he thought it was funny, but I, also, think it was his way of making note that our family had gotten through another year and had arrived at that  time and place together and with the food, shelter and love that too many people lacked.  It was his way of giving a thank you.

I love you all.  Happy Holidays

December 22, 2013

As moat everyone knows, by now, I am being discharged from rehab on December twenty seventh.  I'm going home for a week, see the Doctor for one final x-a and planning, at this point to return to Arizona on January 5.  My immediate family members are not, at all, happy with me as they are concerned.  Even the brother who, when I have, in the past, asked his advice has always replied, "Why are you asking me?  You'll do what you want, anyway"  Yes, even that brother is worried. Or would it be more appropriate for me to say that he is vocal with his concerns this time.  Truth be told, I think all of my siblings worry about me. As I do them, of course.

I have decided to address their concerns in hopes of alleviating their fears, and to be totally truthful, allay some of my own concerns in the process

Why am I going back?  After all, I'm sixty five, and I could retire.  The  short answer is that I want to go back.  Everyone thinks it's because of the money I'd make if I work another few years, and yes, that's a consideration.  But, it's not the only reason.  In the months that I have been in this facility , I have looked into people's faces, and I have gained a little insight into the aging process.  I've learned that, at some point, in each person's life, he or she makes a decision to disengage from this world and begins  to make the  exit.  There doesn't seem to be a particular age or physical condition a person has to be in for this condition ( decision?) to occur.  Each individual seems to come to this place on his own terms, in her  own time.  And here's the thing:  I'm not there, yet.  I may get there in a short  while, maybe a longer while.  But I'm not at that place, yet.

As I'm not ready to disengage, then I want to go back to work  I'm the first to acknowledge that I could use, probably, another month or so of physical therapy.  And, I do, in fact, have the time coming.  The thing is, the educational system in which I am employed works on the semester system.  If I don't go back at the beginning of the semester, I may as well take the rest of the semester off due to the work I'll miss.  So, I've made arrangements for accommodations so I can get back for the beginning of the semester. 

I know this is not going to be easy.  I know that I have to continue my therapy on my own, and I have to lose weight.  My problem, in both of these areas, is that when I get busy, I don't take care of myself.  I'll do what everyone else needs to be done, and put exercise and eating heathfully last. This must stop, or , as I have said, I'll end up in a sad shape.

I want everyone to know that I've thought this through and through and through.  Yes, I may not be able to pull this off.  I may decide that the whole idea was a mistake and turn the truck around and head home.  But, as the inmates in the prison used to say, " Scared money don't make money"  And if I don't try, it will always be something that I didn't do that I wanted to do.  And, on one of those viral posts, isn't that a big regret people have when they're old?  They don't regret what they did, but what they didn't do? 

So, here I go. Back to Arizona.  Oh, and by the way.....that scared money comment?  Don't put a lot of stock in that.  When one of them would say it, it was , usually, right before they did something shady which , invariably, landed them in the Hole or got them indicted.  

I love all of you and am so very grateful for the love and support all of you have given back to me

December 15, 2013

Well, I am scheduled for discharge on December 27, returning to work for second semester on a light duty basis.  I'm far from one hundred percent and will require some accommodations in order to work, but even so I have made the decision to return. I realize my age, truly I do, but I've been lucky enough to find work that I like among people I like with kids I love. I want to go back.

I want to take a minute to thank all the people in my life who have been so supportive during this tough period.My family has been so supportive.  From my kids who have visited, to my brothers who flew in for my birthday, my sister who calls every day without fail, I am blessed.  The other day, I felt, at once, guilt and pride.  As I was leaving the day room, one resident said to another, 'She's so lucky.  She has a nice family.  Someone comes to see her every single day.'

  I know people have some reservations about social media, but during the past months, I have been so grateful and have felt such support from people with their positive thumbs up and sweet comments.  These have made such an impact upon my recovery. From the 'kids' with whom I grew up ( as much as any of us did, in fact, grow up) from Turley and the north side of Tulsa, my beloved extended family of cousins and their families, the 'kids' who grew up with my kids and have , after becoming adults ,stayed on to become friend s of mine, all the friends I've made in my life's journey   to my 'new' friends that I have made on the rez, both Navajo and Filipeno, I have been so uplifted by your support.

Now, as I enter the second stage of this issue, I am preparing to ask for your help again. I have always been, as my Grandmother Britton used to say, 'a big girl'. Or as K.D. Lang sang, 'a big boned girl'.  For the record, I'm not big boned.  I'm fat.  Just saying  My weight has never been a problem for me because I was, also, a pretty healthy girl.  I walked, navigated , traveled.  In short, I lived the life I loved, doing the things I loved  to do. Over the past several years, however, this 'situation' has gotten out of control.  I , truly, did not realize what a problem my obesity had become until I was faced with a limb threatening injury and my recovery was so negatively impacted by my weight

In the past, when faced with problems, my response has been to shut up, suck it up, stick my chin and head in the air and move on.  If I reached out to anyone, it was to family and to a few friends, and I didn't like to do that. I guess, figuratively. I've been eating my feelings.  Along with a heck of a lot of egg foo yung and cheesecake. To need help, to ask for help was, always, to me, a sign of weakness.  I have learned, since July fourth weekend, when I cinderized  my ankle that this is not a constructive way to think.

I have got to lose weight, and now, with my leg on the mend, I am going to address this issue.  Not to do so is to, with a virtual certainty, guarantee myself  a life of limited mobility.  I'll probably end up in a wheelchair.  I will be limited in what I can do in terms of a job, and, in the near future, in retirement. How can I buy a camper to drive across the country if I am not fit enough to set up camp alone?  Riding a train through Thailand? Out of the question. I'd never fit in those seats.  Those are some tiny people.

Although I have enough exercise DVD s to get  a small village into shape , in order for them to work, they have to be utilized. Since being in rehab, I have been exercising daily, and my therapist says that has helped my recovery tremendously.  I plan to continue exercising as I return to my daily life.  I haven't settled on an eating plan, yet.  Siince I live alone and don't have to cook for anyone else, I'm considering one of the commercially available plans.  Besides, my Part B Medicare gives discounts on some of them  It, also, gives discounts on gym memberships, but since I'm returning to Arizona, and as there are no gyms closer than Gallup, I'm going to have to rely on DVD s.

I have decided that by involving my Facebook buddies in this endeavour, I stand a better chance of achieving success. I think it would help a lot in the same way it kept me focused these past months. .  I'll be posting, weekly, my progress, and since I will be among my co workers who are also facebook friends, I'll have to stay honest.  D.L. And Lorinda, in particular,  can be trusted to call me out .  Elaine and Andrew  are too polite to say anything, but they will be quick to pray for  me when I fail.  I will be grateful for both actions

Let's be honest. Weight loss, at my age, is gonna be tough, and I could fail. The research shows the odds ain't good.  Still, I have to try.  Here I go.  .