Woolly Mutts

You're gonna miss this.

"You're gonna miss this
you're gonna want this back
you're gonna wish these days
hadn't gone by so fast.

These are some good times
so take a good look around.
You may not know it now
but you're gonna miss this."


Since we returned from our week in Nashville I've been making it a habit to hit the button on the radio tuned to the country music station.  After experiencing the devotion country music fans have for their music and musicians I decided there must be more to it than my original assessment.  I'll admit that I'm still not what I would call a "fan", but there is no denying that they have a gift for music that gets right to the heart of emotion.  One of my favorites is the song containing the lyrics above, "You're Gonna Miss This", by Trace Adkins (who I actually met in Nashville).  Video here. 

Every time I hear this song I wonder what it is about the human animal that struggles to live in the moment? Why do we always want what will come next more than what is happening now? There is no question that with age comes a certain wisdom and it truly has taken me to age 50 to realize how much I missed hurrying on to the next thing in life. 

The picture above is one of my dearest of my children.  I remember them so clearly that day, so blond and sweet.  Karl had just been given his first wrist watch and he was so proud of it.  Kysa wasn't quite 3 and always hurrying to keep up with Karl.  I also remember that I thought I would NEVER get her potty trained and that shopping for school supplies with Karl was just torture as he could never decide exactly what he wanted.  Those were some good times, and while I don't want them back, I do wish that I had appreciated them for the gifts they were at the time.  I would like back just a few more bed time stories in the rocking chair, a few more sweet baby hugs and kisses, a few more hours at the table after school hearing about their days.  Those were some good times and they are gone so fast.  I had no idea.  None at all.

Today my children have grown into two of the loveliest people I know.  They are both kind and thoughtful and generous of spirit.  Karl is nearing his goal of becoming a fireman and Kysa is less than 3 months from giving birth to our first grand-baby. I wish I was able to give them the gift of "now".  The knowledge that this moment will.not.come.again.  The ability to walk more slowly through life and absorb the joy, and the sorrow, as it happens. 

Cause Trace got it right, you're gonna miss this.

The way to a Mother's heart.

Summer makes me nostalgic. 

Each time I see this aged gate I smile and remember the summer when my ten year old son and his best buddy came struggling though the back yard carrying it between them.  It was in exactly the same condition that it is now and was found somewhere upstream in the creek bed.  Upon spying it they just knew I would love it and find a home for it in one of the gardens. And of course they were right. 

Earlier this week  I thought it was missing, perhaps stolen, and was broken hearted. To my relief it was found lying in some tall grass.  I moved it farther from the street and to a place I could keep a better eye on it.  A little piece of tangible love needs to be well cared for.

My most embarrassing moment....or the day the Tamagotchie died.

Over the last several months I've become a devoted listener of Sage Tyrtle over at Quirky Nomads.  At the close of each broadcast she asks a question and then encourages listeners to call or email in their answer.  Yesterday's question was; "what was your most embarrassing moment"?  The day that I wanted the floor to open up and suck me in is recapped in the following story of ironic humor.

  My kids were 9 and 11 and when my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  Inoperable and fairly advanced, the doctors suggested chemo, but still only gave him six months to live.  The very talented Doctor of Oncology was big on family involvement and called twice monthly family meetings to discuss my father's condition.  He was a proponent of the "no surprises" method of healthcare and I thanked him for it early and often.  Mine were the only children in the family and were always encouraged to come.  Karl, the oldest, was generally able to stay focused during the meetings, and often interjected questions.  Kysa, my beautiful ADD child, could barely sit still.  For this reason I allowed her to bring along something to occupy her during the sessions, and her choice was always her Tamagotchie. 

For those of you unfamiliar, a Tamagotchie is a virtual pet and they were all the rage during that time.  You had to monitor it's every function.  If it was hungry it would beep and you would push the little button to feed it.  After eating, it pooped.  (I'm not making this stuff up.) It could get sick and need injections, it needed play time and nap time and babysitting if you were going to leave it alone.  I drew the line on the babysitting part, but somehow we managed to keep it alive.  Oh yes, did I mention the dying part?  Yeah, the thing could die if you didn't care for it correctly.  As I recall, there was a little meter that kept you informed if you were being a lousy Tamagotchie Mom.  Brilliant little invention.

True to the prognosis of the doctors, my father's cancer could not be stopped and he passed away almost six months to the day of his diagnosis.  His funeral was held on the hottest day of summer.  I remember that I wore a navy suit with pantyhose.  I must have been nuts.  Anyway, the plan was to have the visitation and viewing before the funeral, making for a really long and emotional day for everyone involved, including my kids.  Somehow we all managed to sweat (there was air conditioning, but it was no where near enough to deal with the mass of people in such a small space) our way through the visitation and take our seats in the family area for the funeral.  As we took our seats I noticed that my daughter had the Tamagotchie in her hand and I whispered to her to put it away until after the service, which she did.

All went well until near the end of the service when Kysa's little white purse began to vibrate.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see she and Karl fumbling with the bag to get it open and calm whatever distress the Tamagotchie was in.  And then, during my father's funeral, the Tamagotchie died.  I kid you not.  It vibrated, it beeped, it played the hallelujah chorus at the top volume of it's little Tamagotchie voice and it expired.  The service stopped and every eye in the place turned to us.  Kysa was madly pushing every button when Karl grabbed it and sat on it.  This muted the volume enough so that it was only audible to the those of us close, but I swear it went on playing "king of kings, and lord of lords" until that little Tamagotchie had walked all the way from Northern Illinois to Tamagotchie heaven.  I remembering smiling and indicating that everything was fine and the service began again, this time moving along to the final prayer with some haste, just in case the lunatics in the family section did something else inappropriate.  I looked at the kids and the kids looked at me and the worst possible thing happened: we started to laugh.  That nervous horrible laughter that can't be controlled.  We, as silently as possible, shook with laughter until tears ran down our cheeks.  I remember thinking that the only person that could have truly appreciated the irony of this situation was the man in the casket.  At the end of the service Karl pulled out the Tamagotchie and we all looked disbelievingly at the screen to see a beautiful angel serenely floating right above the words, "to begin again, push here". 

So that's the story of the day the Tamagotchie died.  Coincidence or Divine humor.  You decide.