Ivy....

I am now Gma, to another sweet girl. She was welcomed into our family yesterday about 2:00PM EST. She has beautiful brown eyes, and sports a beautiful fur coat. On Christmas Eve, she was adopted and saved from a terrible fate. She is between 7 months, and 18 months old. The girls are ecstatic with their new little addition. Jason can firmly state, he is definitely the head of household of a family of girls.

Welcome Ivy, I can hardly wait to meet you.

Ave Maria...

Ave Maria is my favorite Christmas song. The reason is clear from my last post. Of every artist of which I could have chosen, why did I pick this one? I picked Celtic Woman because, this is the closest one to Wendy's young voice. Yes, my sweet daughter has a classically trained angelic soprano voice.

By the time she was age twelve. Wendy was singing in French, Italian, German, and English. She used to practice everyday standing in the kitchen while I fixed dinner. So, everyday I fixed dinner listening to the sweetest voice I have ever known. Wendy continued voice training until she finished college. My fondest memory, cooking dinner while going to the Metropolitain. I remember peeling potatoes with my back turned to the sink, while tears streamed into the sink. I remember grabbing the sink with both hands to steady myself when she would hit a high C, E, and yes, A.

Wendy had many songs in her repertoire, but O Holy Night and Ave Maria were my favorite. After all, they are as close to any angelic song, which could have been sung that evening long ago announcing the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem.

Wendy's voice was as clear as any angel. Although, I am her Mother. Wendy and I would travel to nursing homes where I would play the piano and she would sing, bringing tears to those in the attendance. Not only to the residents, but also the staff. I would look for any venue in which Wendy could practice singing to an audience. In the beginning she was very shy and for her this would be a difficult task. The first time she sang O Holy Night in church, she trembled. Yet, even though she was nervous with stage fright, and also by the large quite critical audience, she never missed a note.

Until Wendy finished college and became a working adult, she and I would favor certain neighbors with her beautiful voice as we Christmas caroled. I should say she would sing, and I would listen. I only rang in on the last verse of We Wish You A Merry Christmas. In thinking back, I often wonder how she sang so beautifully, bundled up on such cold winter evenings. I never questioned then, although now I am a amazed.

I have such fond memories of Christmas past shared with my only daughter, my dear, darling Wendy.

The Infants....

Every time I look at a newborn baby, I am amazed. The wonder of it all has never ceased to amaze me. I was a Labor and Delivery Nurse for many years. I never tired of the birth process. Although as a mother, I have gained great respect for the miracle.

I was expecting my first baby on December 28, 1968. I remember sitting and looking at the Christmas tree thinking, how in the world did Mary do this? How did she travel on a donkey to Bethlehem? I could hardly ride in a car comfortably.

Then I realized on January 6, 1969, Three Kings Day, how she did it. I became a Mother on this date. We celebrate this official date as the day the Thee Kings arrived at the stable to worship their King. Mary gave birth to her infant in exactly the same way I did. Although the time was different, the place different... the birth process was the same.

I gave birth to my first-born son in a hospital. I swaddled him in a clean white blanket. Mary gave birth to her first-born son, our Lord and Savior, in a stable. She swaddled him in swaddling clothes. I am not comparing myself to the Mother of Jesus. I am simply comparing myself to another Mother who was delighted and happy with her newborn infant. Everything that she suffered to deliver him was worth it. I feel the same way. Everything I suffered was worth it.

Mary and I only have three things in common. We both love her son, Jesus. Mary was Mother to our Redeemer, the Messiah. I was Mother to a little red haired baby boy, named Mark. We both gave birth to sons as our first-born children. We both watched as our wonderful sons, died. We felt more pain at their death, than anything we ever suffered at their birth.

Mary suffered as she cared for her dead son in the tomb. She did not understand that He would rise again. For three days, she wailed and sobbed thinking her son was lost to her forever. Then on the third day, she watched as He rose from death. I never had to suffer for three days thinking my son was lost to me forever. I knew from the moment of his death our separation was only temporary.

Oh sweet Mary, I love you so. Thank you for riding on a donkey, for giving birth in a stable, and for crying at the cross of Jesus, for it is through your pain and through your Son, that my son will live again.

The Nativity...1954

I was 6 years old when my Mum brought home the little Nativity set. We were living in Panama, and it was Christmas 1954. The little Nativity had a cardboard stable, and little plastic figurines. There was a little bit of straw on the cardboard roof, to represent a thatched roof. I was enthralled.

From that moment until I had children of my own, this was the only Nativity set I ever owned. Each year, I was responsible for setting the up little stable. I took such pride in that I always tried to place Mary looking straight down into the face of baby Jesus. Joseph was always towards her back as though he was offering support. Every year, I would do something different with the shepherds, kings, and animals. One year I made snow out of cotton balls. Every year, I tried different lighting effects such as the use of a flashlight. One year I made the mistake of using a candle and almost burned everything up. My Mum came to the rescue with a glass of water.

For my entire life, up until I no longer had children living at home, this little Nativity set was the only one we ever used. Over time, the color started to come off of the little plastic figures, the cardboard stable was held together with tape, and I tried to replace the roof straw with grass. Over the years, the job of setting up the Nativity was given to Wendy. I remember that she took as much time setting up the little cardboard stable as I did as a little girl. Setting up, this little Nativity set was one of the hi-lights of my life growing up. Watching Wendy take the same tender care became the hi-light of my Christmas's as an adult.

There is a sad ending to the little plastic Nativity set. I have no idea what ever became of it. After almost 50 years, it just disappeared. This knowledge continues to bring tears to my eyes. The little Nativity was not only a part of our family tradition, for me it represented Christmas.

Christmas Tree...

When I was young, our family put up the Christmas tree about ten days before the holiday. Of course, at that time all Christmas trees were live. My Dad always seemed to have the knack of picking out the perfect tree. I never remember going as a family to tree shop. Daddy would always arrive home one evening with the tree tied to our 1951 or 1960 Pontiac.

I remember my Daddy taking lots of time deciding which side of the tree was to face forward. He was always careful to have the tree placed away from electrical outlets and chords. My Mum was the director, and my Daddy was the worker.

Daddy strung the tree with the large multi-colored old fashion Christmas lights. I do not remember seeing the tiny Christmas lights of today until I was about 16. When he finished the lights, we hung the Christmas ornaments. I remember our hands painted ornaments were made of very fragile glass. Many of our ornaments dated back to WWII. Every year at least one fell and shattered. I can remember crying each time the fragile glass scattered on the floor. Even at such a young age, I knew the broken ornament was irreplaceable.

After the lights, the ornaments placed, came the best part, the careful hanging of the silver icicles. At that time, icicles were made of lead. We did not know that lead icicles were dangerous. It was years later before they completely disappeared from the market. I remember using boxes and boxes of icicles. After the tree was covered in silver ice, Daddy would place our Christmas Angel on the very top. I never remember using another Christmas tree topper other than this angel.

My Mum used a crisp, freshly ironed, white sheet as a tree skirt. After the sheet was in place, Daddy would turn of the room lights, and turn the tree lights on. I can still feel the excitement, which I felt as a little girl. I remember sitting up late on weekends looking at the wonder of our beautiful, ice-covered tree. The colored lights shimmered in the refection of the icicles.

To this day, I can honestly say, I have never seen more beautiful Christmas trees than the ones my family shared. I think the secret was lead icicles. The cellophane silver ones purchased today are not the same. I remember being so disappointed with plastic icicles that I quit using them all together. I started using garland as a young mother, never to return to icicles.

Happy Gma....

Grandma and Kieran Mark

November 29, 2009

Thanksgiving Reflection...

Holidays are a time of reflection. It seems just a short time ago that I was making my first Thanksgiving Dinner, all by myself. I was living in Fajardo, Puerto Rico in a 30-story condominium at Dos Marinas. I had been married long enough to have two children, but my Mum had always fixed our family holiday dinners. To Grandmothers House we would go.

I remember having a difficult time getting food. There was a dock strike on the mainland. Since everything was shipped into this lovely island, food was a bit scarce. We had enough to eat. Although, important things like turkeys were non-existent. Therefore, we had stuffed chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, baked apples and apple cider. That was it. There was no pie, no whipped cream, no sweet potatoes, no green beans, and no special marshmallow salad.

Even in California, there is a small change in the seasons, not so at Thanksgiving in Puerto Rico. We were just coming out of hurricane season. It was hot and almost sickly humid. This was my first holiday away from home. I was longing for my husband who was away on travel, my Mum, my Dad, and air conditioning! I remember tears falling like rain as I put the little chicken into the oven.

Wendy, came up to me with a kitchen towel saying, Mama, you must be hot 'cause you are sweating so much that you are making the oven pop. Yes, I was making the oven pop, although not because I was glistening. (Ladies do not sweat!) The oven was popping from my falling tears. I remember gathering her up into my arms. I twirled her around saying, well then, we will dance and the breeze will make me cool. She giggled as we danced and danced.

Mark, who was eight, was playing with his Hot Wheels Road Racer, and we tripped over it. I remember that he got up and with his hands on hips saying; you girls belong in the kitchen. I remember falling down laughing and looking at these beautiful children beside me, thinking...this is so good. It is not California, I do not have my Mama, but I have my babies and that peaked looking chicken is just fine. For the first time while lying on that hot floor, I realized what Thanksgiving really was. It was not about turkey.

I can remember this day as if it was yesterday. This dinner was to be the first and the last Thanksgiving dinner I ever cooked for Mark. Little did I know that in a few short months, Mark would be in Heaven.

Although, I never fixed Mark a real turkey dinner for his last Thanksgiving, I know he did not mind. For on this day in Puerto Rico, the three of us were together, laughing, and giggling. Thanksgiving dinner of 1977 was not perfect. Nonetheless, I think perhaps, it was the best.

It has been 32 years since Thanksgiving, November 24 1977. This Sunday, November 29, 2009, I am driving to Delaware to meet my new grandson, Kieran Mark Allen. I have waited so long to hold a little Mark in my arms again. Thank you, Todd and Colleen for giving me this gift. For me, The Morning Has Broken.

Morning has broken, like the first morning.
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for the springing fresh from the world.

Meet Kieran Mark...

KIERAN MARK ALLEN

November 16, 2009

Oh Lord, I do not ask for much,

Eternal Beauty, or youth, or such.

Just give me a little hand to hold,

And I'll forget that I'm growing old.

I do not ask for cloudless skies,

A life that's free from tears and sighs.

Just give me a little face to kiss,

And anxious moments will turn to bliss.

For what is there, really, that means so much

As little hands that reach and touch,

As little eyes that search and see

Only the best in fragile me?

So let me grow more loving and wise

Looking at life through their wide eyes.

For through these little ones, you have given

This grateful grandmother a glimpse of Heaven.

B. Burrows

I Am Pleased To Announce.....

Kieran Mark Allen arrived this morning at 9:01 AM. He weighed 8.4lbs. In addition, Kieran is 20in. in length. He sprouts a full head of brown hair and looks like Colleen. Todd said that Kieran carries his signature hairline. Colleen is doing well after an early morning C-Section. Kieran’s Mom and Dad are more than happy. Pictures should be arriving soon. We hope to drive up to see this precious little fellow over the Thanksgiving holiday.

Thank you dear Jesus, again, you have blessed us. Bob and I are now the proud grandparents of six!

I'm sorry Holli, I still can't believe that you are gone. Oh my friend, I will miss your voice, and loving personality.

Holli White, mother of two young daughters, entered Heaven November 5, 2009 after a three week struggle with H1N1. She was a delight to know. She was blessed with an angelic soprano voice, and was a victorious disciple of Jesus Christ. She was a pure example of Amazing Love.

Please visit http://www.holliwhite.com/ to learn more about this amazing, young, and talented woman.

My First Boyfriend...

I was in the eighth grade. I was a bit different than most of the girls my age. As my friend Dawna was lamenting about her 32A bra size, I was sobbing about my 34D. I was still playing with dolls in the eight grade, but also at the same time, I was stuggling with a woman's body. I always felt awkward and different.

Even though my friends and I were still playing Jacks, we had also started to take notice of the opposite sex. I went to a Jr. High School which included the 7th and 8th grades only. Our school did have a few school dances, and I distinctly remember learning the Bristol Stomp at one.

In Jr. High School if you had a boyfriend, it meant that he walked you to your classes holding your hand. Of course, at the end of the school day, you parted with hugs and the feeling that you would never see each other again. Most 8th grade romances lasted about three weeks. Mine lasted a lifetime.

On February 14, 1962, I received a home made Valentine from a young man whom I had admired from afar. I was very surprised to receive a card from the young man that I thought so handsome. I had no idea that he had even noticed me. I have never forgotten my first real, honest to goodness, Valentine's Day card. Although, I am not sure if my young man remembers sending it to me.

Anyway, I was stunned by my card. I had no idea that this very cute, blond boy had noticed me. Actually, he wasn't a boy. He too was more mature than the other skinny boys in our school. He was more like me, just a bit more ahead of the rest of the kids in physical development.

I contacted the young man the next day. I thanked him for my card and from that moment, we were together. He would walk me to my classes, carry my books, and hold my hand. We would hug at the end of the school day. This wonderful young man had become my first boyfriend. For eighth graders, I feel that we had quite a heated romance. I was even invited to his house for dinner. I remember that we could talk about anything. And yes, we did share a few sweet kisses. We were together until summer break. We saw each other a few times over the summer. Then, with the beginning of high school, we drifted apart.

I remember seeing him and talking to him in high school. But, for some reason he didn't walk me to my classes anymore, or hold my hand. He moved away at the end of our freshman year. I don't even remember saying goodbye. Suddenly, he was just gone, and part of my teenage heart went with him.

I have wondered through the years what happened to my friend. I never have forgotten his face, or his hands. I have never forgotten how it felt for him to hold my hand, or the touch of my first kiss. Most of all, I will never forget the first feelings in my body that confirmed, indeed I was a woman. Which I mght add, frightend me. I didn't understand this kind of physical feeling. I just knew that it felt good.

He was in my life for only a moment in time. Although, his reflection has never left me. I can see him as clearly as I did 47 years ago. Unfortunately for me, I never found him again.

To some, this may sound like an insignificant story. It isn't. I was lucky to have had this wonderful and sweet experience. He awakened feelings in me that I never knew existed. He was kind, tender, and very thoughtful. How fortunate I was to have had such a wonderful person to offer me such a sweet and tender first romance.

I must admit, I never met another man quite like him.

So Mothers, when your young daughter comes home from Jr. High School to tell you that she thinks that she is in love, please do not discount her feelings. Perhaps indeed, she may be.

I am quite sure that I was. We just met too young and too soon. When I look back, it brings me happiness that we even met at all. For even being so young, it was very, very good.

Forever In Our Hearts....

~ Jason Garrick Dial, Jr. ~

J.J.

October 29, 2009 - October 29, 2009

The Cord

We are connected,
My child and I, by
An invisible cord
Not seen by the eye.

It's not like the cord
That connects us 'til birth
This cord can't been seen
By any on Earth.

This cord does it's work
Right from the start.
It binds us together
Attached to my heart.

I know that it's there
Though no one can see
The invisible cord
From my child to me.

The strength of this cord
Is hard to describe.
It can't be destroyed
It can't be denied.

It's stronger than any cord
Man could create
It withstands the test
Can hold any weight.

And though you are gone,
Though you're not here with me,
The cord is still there
But no one can see.

It pulls at my heart
I am bruised...I am sore,
But this cord is my lifeline
As never before.

I am thankful that God
Connects us this way
A mother and child
Death can't take it away!

~A.U.~

We know that little Jason is in the arms of Jesus. This provides great comfort. Please remember, death does not end your relationship with your little baby here on earth. Love goes on and on even though we are earthbound.

Aunt Lana

Dawna....

Dawna is my best friend. We met when we were in the 5th grade. We never went to grade school together, but we did go to High School together. Dawna was beautiful. She was everything I wasn't. She had beautiful, curly blonde hair, long straight legs, and she was thin. We did everything together. We were inseparable.

We were really into the Folk Singing of the '60's. We both had guitars and we sang together. We performed at many activities. Our signature song was, They Call the Wind Mariah. Dawna and I spent our summers together on the California beach. I wanted to be her, in that I thought she looked so good in a bikini. She wanted to be me because she thought I looked so good in a "bikini top."

Dawna and I were always looking for beautiful places to write songs or just talk. We found a little place on the hillside of a mountain that had just become a cemetery. No, we were not weird. We were just looking for a quiet beautiful place. Our place was called Conejo Mountain. It was absolutely beautiful over looking acres of orange trees. On a clear day, we could see all the way to the ocean. We spent hours in our little quiet cemetery. Often we laughed wondering if the people who were laid to rest enjoyed our singing. Dawna and I had no idea that this beautiful little cemetery would one day mean much more to us than just a beautiful, quiet place.

Dawna and I stayed very close to each other until we graduated high school. I become engaged to be married the day I graduated high school. Dawna became engaged one week later. She was married the last week in November, 1966. I was married the first week in December, 1966. She moved to Georgia. I settled down and started college. I had my first baby in 1969. A son, named Mark. She had a baby girl, Kirsten 2 years later.

I moved to San Juan Capistrano, CA. Dawna came back from Georgia and settled in Santa Paula, CA. One day in 1975, I received a frantic phone call from Dawna. She was so upset that she couldn't talk. Finally, I was able to make out, "Both my parents have been killed in an accident." Then she said, "I am having my parents buried on Conejo Mountain."

Three years later in 1978, I called Dawna from where I was living in Puerto Rico. I screamed into the phone, "Mark is dead." Then, I told her that we were bringing Mark home to California to be buried. I told Dawna that I wanted him buried on Conejo Mountain.

Within a few days, Dawna and I sat stunned at Marks funeral. In fact, although there were hundreds in attendance, Dawna's face is the only one I can really remember. Dawna's parents and my sweet Mark are only steps away from each other. They are together in the beautiful little cemetery that Dawna and I were drawn to when we were young.

We have discussed this over the years, wondering if we were drawn to this beautiful place for some reason? We both decided that we were. We both felt comfortable in the little cemetery. We always felt safe there, never afraid. Therefore, we felt comfortable and secure when it came time for Dawna to leave her parents, and for me to leave my Mark. Dawna's parents died when she was 27. Mark died when I was 30.

Dawna and I have shared so much. We have been best friends for over 50 years. I still think that she looks great in a bikini and she still thinks that I look great in a bikini top. Actually, I think we are both blind! We just love and accept each other for who we both are.

Dawna and Lana, we are connected at the hip and we share more than just friendship. We share a very special place on a lovely mountain over looking acres of orange trees. On a clear day, you can see all the way to the ocean.

New Bugs Scare Me.....

Holli White leading the Chancel Choir.



Holli White, Godspeed Praise Band

Last Spring when the H1N1 virus was just starting to hit the news, I felt a shiver go down my spine. H1N1 was a new virus that started in a small village in Mexico. It quickly spread across the country and very soon across the world. The CDC and Public Health Service started to sound the alarm. This virus was new, and NO ONE had immunity to it. Very quickly the news was out that we had a new virus circulating about the world. Not only was it a new virus, but we knew that that it had the capability to become a killer. Immediately, the money was made available to get a vaccination rolling in order to protect the health of the US public.

Soon, many people were laughing at the sudden alarm this funny little virus was creating. Schools were closed, trips were cancelled and news channels spent hours covering it. Most people said that the CDC was over reacting and started to make light of this new killer virus.

Not me. On May 21, 2009 I wrote the following:

Any new virus which has the potential to kill, or any old contagious illness which causes death or disability is enough to get this cycle going. We know that measles kills people and can leave them permanently disabled. It is known that H1N1 kills, but we have no idea how fast or if it can cause permanent disability. Please give public health, the CDC, and the WHO a break. They are working overtime with an unknown entity. They are working to protect the entire population of the world. Do you want that job?

Remember the horror this county felt when it was discovered that Rubella, the mild 3-day German measles left the human unborn fetus with horrible birth defects? I remember and guess what? I was pregnant with my first baby and there was no preventable vaccine. Did I worry, well yea...I was in nurses training taking care of sick children.

During 1964 and 1965 a rubella epidemic in the United States caused an estimated 12.5million cases of rubella and 20,000 cases of congenital rubella syndrome (CRS) which led to more than 11,600 babies born deaf, 11,250 fetal deaths, 2,100 neonatal deaths, 3,580 babies born blind and 1,800 babies born mentally challenged.

My hope is that H1N1 will turn out to be less potent. But, in the mean time, is it better to have too much information than not enough? Is it better to be too cautious?

Yes!


Today I was informed of a young friend who is currently clinging to life. She is in a coma, and on a ventilator at Georgetown University Hospital in Washington D.C. She has been diagnosed with H1N1.


Please people, take this virus seriously. And, please pray for Holli White.

Soon To Be, Another Grandchild....

Yesterday, I went to a baby shower given in honor of my youngest son, Todd and his wife, Colleen. They are expecting their third baby, a boy on November 18, 2009. This happens to be my daughter Wendy's' wedding anniversary. If the baby is born on November 19, 2009, he will be born on my wedding anniversary and my Father's birthday.

Daddy Todd, was born on December 1, 1980. At the time, we were living on Whidbey Island, WA. Unfortunately, my Dad died suddenly on February 21, 1981. I was 33. Todd, was never able to meet his Grandfather which has always made me sad. It is so hard for me to believe that so many years have past since my Dad died. He has been in Heaven for almost the same amount of time that he was with me here on earth. By the time our new baby is born, my Dad would have been a great Grandfather for a total of seven times. He loved being a Grandfather to Mark and Wendy. He was an exceptional Grandfather, just like he was an extraordinary Father. My Dad was wonderful. He continues to have my devotion.

I look at my son Todd who will soon be thirty. It seems like yesterday that he was baby. It is hard for me look at him as a father of three. Where did the time go?
I remember when I walked into a room I was always the youngest. Now, more than likely, I am the oldest.

I am not sad to be my age. In fact, I am happy. I am settled. I no longer feel restless or that I am missing something, or.....I am not good enough. Not good enough for what? I was never quite sure, life? Not good enough for the world? Who knows? Even after all of these years I still don't know. I just know that now, I finally fit into my skin. It feels so good and very comfortable.

~ Our Beautiful and Precious, Little Kitty ~ `

September 11, 1996 - October 13, 2009

Tonight, our hearts are broken and we can not stop our tears.

Tonight our royal Princess is greeting our beloved Puppy, Abby, and George.

For our dear pets, this is a long awaited, happy reunion.

For us, it is a painful and sad good-bye.

Wendy, My Darling's, Birthday....

Wendy was born October 9, 1972. She was named after Wendy Darling from the 1953 Disney movie, Peter Pan. The name Wendy was created for the movie Peter Pan. It was the first time that the name Wendy had ever been used. I loved the movie Peter Pan, and I especially loved the character, Wendy. She was a wonderful sister to her brothers. She was a great and supportive friend, to Peter Pan. Moreover, I thought Wendy Darling was beautiful.

Wendy was my second baby. My first child was a son, Mark Richard. We did not have sono's in 1972 or epidurals. Every birth was natural without medication, and each baby was a surprise.

I wanted a little girl. And, I wanted her to have red hair. My grandmother had beautiful auburn hair. I wanted my little girl to be blessed with her great grandmother Jane Shirts, beautiful red hair.

I wore pink for my entire pregnancy including a pink hair ribbon everyday. We named the baby Wendy even though we had no idea if we were going to have a girl. Had Wendy been a boy, she would have been named Seth.

I went into labor two hours after I had finished my nursing shift. I was a RN in charge of the Labor and Delivery suite of St. Johns Hospital in Oxnard, California. Imagine the surprise, when I returned to the same nurse that I had just given end of shift report.

I always start with hard labor. There is never a light contraction. Wendy was no exception. I began hard contractions at 1AM. She was born a little after 5AM. I dilated quickly. I went from 5Cm's to complete with one contraction. In fact, my Dr. had just checked me when I screamed the baby is coming. Dr. Chung told me to get a grip as I was only dilated 5Cm's. I remember kicking off the sheet and screaming the baby is coming out. And, she was. Dr. Chung delivered me in his business suit. Wendy was born with such force that she broke both of her little clavicles.

I was so happy that I had delivered a beautiful little girl, but felt so sad that both of her tiny collar bones were broken in the process. There was simply nothing that could be done to prevent this from happening. Wendy was so excited to be my baby that she literally rushed into my arms. In return, I cared carefully for her little broken collar bones until each healed

After Wendy was born, I was given a private room because I was an employee of the hospital. St. John's was a Catholic hospital. I was taken to room 303. When they rolled me onto my bed, I found myself looking directly at a picture of Jesus. I remember distinctly saying, thank you to Jesus, over and over. I was so blessed to have delivered a sweet, 8lb. 8oz, baby girl with beautiful red hair. She was more than anything I had ever hoped for. She had the sweetest little fingers and toes. Her skin was unblemished and translucent. Most distinctly, she had deep violet eyes.

Wendy has lived up to everything that Wendy, the movie character stood for. She is a wonderful sister to her brothers. She has been wonderful and supportive to her friends. And to me, she is now and always will be, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.

Wendy, my darling has been the delight of my life for 37 years.

Blessed.....

By the grace of God, I am still employed. Although, I have sadly watched 23 people clean out their desks and leave their duties behind. All I can say is wow! We now have too many health care workers?

I made the cut. Why? I have developed my Spanish language skills. I am now considered bi-lingual. It wasn't my versatile nursing skills which kept me employed. It was my language skills.

So, I am telling everyone, if you want a job.....LEARN TO SPEAK SPANISH or choose another language that goes with the population of which you are now living. Speaking another language is no longer just an asset, it is more than likely.....mandatory.

Oxnard, California 1961, The Way it Was....

Click here Oxnard, California, 1961.

I was in 8th grade when this was filmed. Not everyone in 1961 Oxnard had it as good as me. But, still....it was great place to grow up.

My Family of Origin..

My family of origin was not perfect. There were flair ups of temper, problems with anxiety, chronic illness, money issues, misunderstandings, and anger. I dislike the word dysfunctional, so I never use it to describe my family. Dysfunctional is the opposite of functional. To me, this means a family who does not provide for the basics of life to their children. Such things as, food, shelter, and support. A dysfunctional family NEVER achieves center field. This family always remains in the outfield never catching the ball. This analogy is simple. An example of an outfield family could participate in child abuse, incest, alcoholism, and violence, never achieving balance. Notice I said, NEVER achieving balance. In the very worst of family situations, healing can take place. Even the most terrible problems can get better with repentance and forgiveness.

In general, the use of dysfunctional in describing a family is overused and often, incorrect. Dysfunctional means something that does not work...at all. Well, even though my family of origin had more than its share of problems, I have never felt that I came from a dysfunctional family. I feel that I came from a disjointed family.

The term dysfunctional gives the feeling that a family was completely unsuccessful. On the other hand, a disjointed family is one that lacks unity and cohesion or the inability to come together as a single unit. This is how I would describe my family.

When a man and woman come together in marriage and start a family, I feel usually they have good intent. I do not believe that parents deliver children for the sole purpose of making them miserable. I don't feel that when a couple says "I do," they come together with the intent of destroying their love and respect. If this does happen it basically occurs from the inability to cope. Or, the skills that one uses to offset the disadvantages of everyday life. Some people are just better at offsetting or coping.

Am I so naive to think that dysfunctional family's do not exist? Of course not. I am saying, my family of origin was not one of them. We were disjointed.

My family had to deal with long separations, opposition, frequent dislocation, chronic illness, mental illness, miscommunication and at times, poverty. Yet, our family was very successful in meeting goals and offering security. We were a small internal group of four. Most of my life I felt that love was abundant. However, I feel that we often functioned without cohesion. I never felt that I was going to starve, or that I would not have my physical needs met. Yet at times, I did feel that arguments and disagreements encouraged a lack of cohesion. The outcome of this lack of cohesion strained relationships which remain to this day.

So, what are the positive outcomes in which I feel my family was successful:

A strong work ethic
The meeting of financial goals
Instilling the importance of education
Protection
Teaching money management
Defence against outsiders who tried negatively to influence a family member
Strategic planning
Sharing for the common good
Generosity
Belief in God
Care for others
Good nutrition
Financial support
Personal responsibility
The sense of not giving up because something is hard, or endurance and perseverance.

There are many more that I could list. However, these specific positive outcomes have remained with me until this day. Therefore, even though disjointed, I feel that our family was successful. As I have grown older, I have accepted that the perfect family does not exist. It is a figment of unreality. I do not hold my parents to a higher standard or hold them more accountable than I hold myself. I feel that it is necessary to focus on the good which parents do. Focusing only on the negative leads to distortion and often confusion of facts. Often with time, more distortion takes place. This means facts give way to inaccurate perceptions.

Once when I was suffering from a personal pity party, a friend enlightened me. He explained, if your parents did nothing at all but to give you existence, then you were fortunate. Life is better than no life. So, when one views life at such a basic level, all families incur some success.

I feel that my family was more than successful, and that I was more than fortunate. The law of relativity always wins. Whenever I am in doubt, the law of relativity gives me a new perspective. Offsetting the disadvantages of life is a life long learning process. Therefore, one can choose to cope with what one has been given, or use the easier method of the blame game. Since I have tried both, I have found the development of offsetting offers greater gain. It simply works better. Offsetting offers new light and a brighter personal world.

Most, although not all of my disadvantages and problems in life, have come from poor personal choices and decisions. No one held a gun to my head and forced me to marry at age 18. I made this choice much to the chagrin of my parents. This one decision has led to more personal unhappiness and more unhappiness for my children than anything my parents could ever be held responsible. Personal responsibility is a measure of maturity and personal growth.

I'm still growing.

The First Few Years.....

POLLY...

I really don't remember much before the age of four. Although, every once in a while I receive a glimpse of a memory when I was much younger. These are a few my first memories.

Being dressed up like a gypsy and going Trick or Treating with my Daddy. According to my Mother, I was about 2-3 years old. I can remember the brightly colored sequined head scarf, the yellow vest, and red skirt which was covered in multi colored sequins. I got very tired and towards the end of the evening, my Dad carried me home. I remember resting my head in the crest of his neck and smelling his Old Spice after shave. Daddy had a strange walk, or gait. He seemed to have a slight limp. When he would take step forward one foot seemed to drag the pavement. Even though I was young, I recognised that there was something wrong with his walk. Little did I know, that this was one of the first symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis of which he suffered.

Being in my parents bed suffering from a very painful earache. I remember the room, the window curtains and everything that was on the top of my Mom's dresser. I remember looking at a beautiful bottle of perfume and thinking I want a pretty bottle like that someday. This pretty bottle held my Mother's signature scent...Shalimar. I liked being in my parents bed because it was "cool." I was running a high fever and the cool sheets felt good to my hot skin. My Mother says that this memory took place when I was about two. She remembers my earache and how helpless she felt. The only pain relief she had to offer me was warm Sweet Oil which she dripped into my ear. She told me that this happened on a Sunday. She had to wait until the next day to take me to the doctor as there was no place to take me for treatment that night.

I remember hiding under the canvas that covered my brothers bike. The bike was stored on our front porch in Norfolk, VA. I had a very small record player which only played small 38 children's records. My favorite songs were All Through The Night and the Mice Song from Cinderella. My favorite doll was named Polly. She was a Mama doll, which meant that when I tipped her over, she cried Mama. She had blue glass eyes. She had a hand painted face. She had pink cheeks and red lips. To me, she was beautiful. She wore a beautiful embroidered, pink smocked, satin dress, a matching bonnet, and lace edged socks with little leather shoes. To this day, Polly remains my favorite doll. Santa brought Polly to me on my third Christmas.

My Daddy was gone for long periods. He was in the Navy. My Mom was a great cook. She always made heart shaped homemade cakes for my birthday.I was able to entertain myself easily. I had a great imagination and enjoyed playing by myself. My Mom was always busy cooking, baking, washing, and ironing. I was always at her feet playing. I remember that we talked and sang. But, I never remember playing with her. I think she was just too busy trying to take care of us alone. We had a wringer washing machine which was kept on the back porch. She used to keep me in a chair by using a towel tied around my waist. We didn't have a fence and she was fearful that I would get lost. She often mentions that she was fearful of getting her fingers caught in the wringer.

To me, my Mother was beautiful. I thought she was a "movie star." I was convinced that she secretly made movies. Every once in a while our family would go to a movie. I remember saying, "Oh Mama, you are so beautiful." She didn't know that I thought the brunette actress in the film was her.

All of my early memories are sweet. As I have grown, I have learned that I was a fortunate little girl. My parents loved me, and I knew it.

Christ Like Love...

Deception Pass Bridge, Whidbey Island, Washington

My son, Mark died while we were living in Puerto Rico. This post is not about his death. It is about the greatest act of Christian Love that I have ever experienced.

Within weeks of Mark's death, we were granted the privilege of moving to the office of our choice. Actually, we were asked to give three choices. This offer came from the organization of which my then husband was employed. Mark's death was the first traumatic death suffered by a child of a NCIS family who was "positioned" outside of the US. The normal and expected emergency care offered in the US was not available to Mark. I feel this was the only reason that our family was granted this opportunity. For whatever reason, I was very grateful the move was initiated. We chose Whidbey Island, Washington as our first choice for assignment. We felt that this beautiful, peaceful, small community would help our little family heal from Mark's untimely, and completely unexpected death.

Today, I want to give honor to a true Christian family. I don't remember their name. In not remembering is my own neglect and sin.

This is their story.

There were only three Agents assigned to the Naval Station on Whidbey Island. In order for us to move to this beautiful place, another family had to leave. This is exactly what happened. A family was asked to leave their beautiful home and accept an untimely, and unwanted move. Their children were asked to leave their schools and friends in order to accommodate our grieving family. This family could have fought this move and probably could have stayed on Whidbey. But, they didn't. This family moved willingly and without complaint. This supreme act of kindness was offered to a family whom they didn't even know. The only information they had was that we were suffering, grieving, and broken. This family gave us a gift of true compassion. In return, they suffered sacrifice and hardship.

This happened over 30 years ago. At the time, I was overwhelmed with sorrow and grief. But still, this did not warrant my lack of appreciation.

Today, I want to say thank you. I pray that through the Grace of Jesus Christ that someone in this wonderful family will come across this post. To this dear NCIS family, I want to say:

Please know how much I appreciate the hardship that you endured for my family. I am sorry it has taken me so long to acknowledge all that you suffered on behalf of my family. I recognise and acknowledge your gift of true compassion. I want you to know that I surrender to your act of selflessness. I know my words of gratitude are late and far to small compared to the Christ Like Love that you so willing offered us. For too long, I have been neglectful in expressing my deep gratitude. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. Although, I know through your deep Christian faith, you already have. As for me, it is necessary to make this request. I pray with all my heart that you are well and blessed.

How I Learned About Sex

It was not earth shattering. Although, what and how the information was given definitely impacted my life for the better.

I was 13. I was in the 7th grade. I was walking home from school with my girl friend, Toni. She asked me if I knew where babies came from. Of course, I said. A man and a woman get married. Then God blesses them with a baby. I believed in the immaculate conception.

Well, Toni told me that her big sister had told her the real story. Then Toni told me the real story.

In the early 1960's, most mothers did not work outside of the home. For one good reason. No family owned two cars and the words mass transportation did not exist in Oxnard.

For me, everyday after school was the same. For one hour, I practiced the piano. Then, I set the table for dinner, and then I started ironing. Perma press did not exist. Every piece of cloth was ironed including pillow cases, sheets, and tea towels. (Dish Towels) I ironed while my mom cooked dinner....from scratch. My Mom cooked for at least 2 hours every evening. Then we ate dinner as a family. After dinner, my mom washed the dishes and I dried and put the dishes away. This usually took about an hour. For one hour every single day, I had my mother's undivided attention. After dishes, it was homework. If I finished my homework before bedtime, which was 9PM, I was able to watch TV. This was my life out side of school during the week.

Anyway, it was doing the dinner dishes that I told my Mother what my friend had said about babies. I remember my Mother taking a very deep breath, and then saying, "What Toni told you is true." I remember my response as though it was yesterday. I said, YOU AND DADDY DO THAT? She said, yes. Then she explained sex between a married man and woman. She used absolutely correct terminology. At the end, she took my hands, held them to her face and said, "Sex is for married people only." I asked why? Again, I remember her exact words. She said, "Sex before marriage complicates your life, and takes away your childhood. As soon as a girl has sex, she is no longer a child, but a woman and a grown up." These two sentences really made a difference in my life.

I believed every word my Mom ever told me. I had compete trust in her. Therefore, that very evening when I was 13, I made a decision. Simply, I would not have sex before marriage. I sure did not want my life to be complicated and I sure didn't want to give up my child or teen status. After watching my Mom and Dad put in the hours that were necessary to provide for our family, I sure didn't want to be grown up. I simply was not interested in working that hard.

That was it. Two sentences from my mother. That was all. I remained a virgin until my wedding night. Actually, after my honeymoon, I decided I wasn't ready to be grown up then! 18 is too young to get married, then and now!

My folks worked very hard. Not just providing for the family, but everyday living required so much. Just think, no micro waves, no cable TV or computers, no video games, no dishwashers, no cell phones, no fast food, and no packaged food. Every thing required time and work. But, what I did have can never be replaced. When I was home, I had my parents attention. Life was very busy doing just the necessities, yet it was so much slower and simpler. I think it was better.

I was not able to tell one of my four children where babies came from. The school did it for me....without my permission. To this day, this makes me sad.

A Little About Me...

I was born in Idaho Falls, Idaho. I share the same first name as the 1950's star, Lana Turner. We share the same birth date and the same birth state. I always thought this a little weird. Anyway, I was born to great parents whom I love deeply. My Dad was a Naval Officer, of the Greatest Generation. My Mom was a multi talented homemaker.

I was raised in PA, VA, Panama, and California. I have many fond memories of each place that I called home. I remember the cold winters and tricker treating in PA, the beautiful beaches of VA, and the golden days of supreme happiness in Panama. I relate Califronia to my wonderful friends, High School, College, white beaches and the birth of my first two children.

I have lived in various countrys, and in different parts of the United States. All hold memories that are dear and treasured to my heart. I have enjoyed the company of good friends, children, my mom, and wonderful dear pets.

My first blog signature was mom2wendy. This signature continues to hold sweetness to me. However, as I was entertaining the idea of starting a new blog, I found that this sweet name was limiting. My greatest role that has brought me my greatest joy is that of being a Mother. As I look back on my life, I found that I have not only mothered four children, but also dear pets, and now my own beloved Mother. Therefore, I decided to expand my signature to include all who are dear to my heart. In the near future, perhaps all will visit the "LakeLady."

The focus of this blog will be all things positive. My intent is to write about all the happy times of which I expierenced many. When I reached past the age of 60 and suddenly 70 becomes the next decade, I decided that now is the time to sit down and write my story. I named my blog To The Lake Go, I. For indeed, this will be the beginning of my next epic journey. The description of this blog is the The Epic Of A Tired Lady, for indeed, I am. My hope is to detail some of the epic adventures of my life, of which there too have been many.

Therefore, with a deep breath, I begin.

My Epic...

This blog belongs to me. It is for me, and about me. I have found that blogging is not only a healthy outlet for feelings and emotions, but also a great hobby. I have always loved reading and writing. I remember everything about First Grade and my wonderful teacher, Mrs. Foresight. She taught me to read, Dick and Jane. During our reading circle, I became friends with Puff, Spot and Sally. So much so that I have collected almost every Dick and Jane Book available. Each time I open one, I am taken back to a time in my life that was uncomplicated. It was a happy time filled with wonder for each new day. My cat, Tinkerbell, who was really a male cat, and I spent hours together curled up in a chair with a book. Tinkerbell would sit on my lap not moving as long as I was reading out loud. Books, and school were the center point of my life for years. As I have grown, finished with my education and my career, books still remain a pivotal part of my existence.

Starting this blog is going to be another essential part of my life. For the first time, I am going to take the time to focus on me, my dreams, my desires, and my hopes. Through this travel I hope to gain some insight into myself, my world, my feelings and my relationships.

It will take some time for me to build this blog. It will be slow going at first. Altough, I feel the journey will be exciting.