For eighteen months I wrote a “non-paid” column for a newspaper—I did receive a free paper if you call that payment. When I first contacted the editor she said all stories must be something happening in Cass County. I live in Douglas County, but I wanted the experience. Fortunately, I had unlimited long distance phone service.
What did I learn? Read the rest of this entry »
It doesn’t matter if you aren’t a mental health counselor, it doesn’t take a college education to figure out a caregiver is human, with human needs, and dumped into the middle of tough times. Sometimes caregivers need to find a key to unlock the mystery of coping.
Suggestion: Make yourself a cheat sheet to help you recognize your specific problems. Read the rest of this entry »
Several years ago I started writing for a weekly newspaper. After a few weeks, I realized I didn’t have a handle on AP style writing. I learned one of my greatest problems is the way I think—I love to write “in story form.” Newspapers want just the facts.
I plowed ahead anyway, willing to try. Experience is a great teacher. I learned to interview on the spot, write concise and meet a deadline. The editor liked the flavor of my articles about the Pastors and their churches in Cass County—that helped me persevere.
Then one night fifteen months later husband said, “Mook, if you can find me a piano player and arrange concerts, I’ll sing again.”
Now who would think that all those interviews with pastors would pave the way for singing dates, but it did. Within three days I had a pianist located and concerts booked several months in advance in Cass County Churches and in Oregon, too.
When I first posted that story, my author friend Sandy Cathcart wrote a reply:
Awesome! My latest buzz line for my students is, “You do it, God will use it.” I’ve seen that over and over in my own life as well, and you are a perfect example. When our hearts are truly yearning for God and we plow ahead, He is always faithful. I think this is a great encouragement to all of us to persevere.
Now it’s 2012 and I have no doubt husband is singing in heaven. Think what I might have missed if I did not persevere.
Still Lionhearted, Kat
“When you confront a problem you begin to solve it. ” –Rudy Giuliani
Tomorrow I meet with Carolyn, a pre-needs funeral director: Tomorrow sounds like the word many use. I’ve asked my siblings more than once this last year, “Do you have your will finished?” They don’t say tomorrow, they groan at my nagging.
But seriously, tomorrow I do have an appointment to purchase the insurance to pay for my cremation package. One person looked shocked when I told her my intentions. But why not?
♥ If I buy it now, it will lock in everything at today’s prices.
♥ My children won’t need to worry about what happens at the time of my death.
♥ If I buy the insurance in Omaha and die in Oregon, the package is pre-paid and transferable.
While I talked to Carolyn this week I decided to email her some info about myself—then forgot what I needed to send. I called her, “I’m sorry, what did I tell you….?”
We talked for a few minutes and then Carolyn said, “Basically you were going to write your accolades.”
What a hoot. I’m writing my own obituary.
More about how to write an obit next week
Still Lionhearted and grinning, Kat
Encourage others to prepare for those final moments: To build a “Life Book” complete with who to contact, desires for funeral, important papers and where they are kept, And of course, those Advanced Directives.
A few years ago, an eye specialist diagnosed me legally blind. When I left that appointment, I felt vulnerable and stripped of all confidence. Unable to drive, I deemed myself useless.
Those first few weeks following my diagnosis were bleak. It didn’t matter that the specialist put my name on a list for a cornea transplant. In the middle of those nights, I wallowed in self-pity and prayed, “God send someone to encourage me.”
Nothing happened. No cards arrived in the mail and husband didn’t know how to encourage me. I felt older than my 59 years.
Now I’m 70. What a change in attitude.
The first change in my thinking happened six months after my diagnosis—the day husband drove me to the surgical center for my first cornea transplant. A courier driver rushed from his vehicle to the front door. He held it open for me and then he hurried past me to the counter with a Styrofoam container in his hand. He spoke to the receptionist, nodded his head at me and left.
The young woman at the desk moved the white container to the side and asked my name.
“Katherine Crawford.”
She smiled at me. “Mrs. Crawford, this package is for you.”
At that moment I realized that someone died that I might see—not that I would just visually see, but the reality of that moment opened my eyes that I might see other souls crying, “Encourage me.”
Prayer: Lord, help me to see your children in need, those hurting behind their smiles. Give me eyes to see their needs and be an encouragement to them. Amen
I met a new to me author, Vicki H. Moss recently. She grew up with her brother’s flying squirrel and her mother cooked squirrel. While I live in a neighborhood full of black squirrels and some of our older neighbors talk about families that eat them, it doesn’t sound like my fried food for family.
On Vickie’s blog she posted The Writer Rat, a story about the albino squirrel she encountered while in Beaufort, South Carolina. This next week photos of the albino squirrel will be posted in a number of different blogs and a prize offered for the first to report all the squirrel photos on the different blogs. Keep your eyes peeled.
To learn more about the contest
Where in the World is the Albino Squirrel? Begin the search at http://www.teresaslack.blogspot.com
Prizes and fun.
Where is a black squirrel when I need one, I’d post a photo of the one that teases our dog Paddy, but …..sigh, he’s not available this morning. Well it is Sunday, maybe he’s gone to church. I’m headed that way shortly.
Still lionhearted, Kat
When we give our lives away, we gain so much in return.
My parents modeled that type of giving from as far back as I can remember. For instance, when we moved into our home on 23rdand Madison in Eugene the front door of our home built in the late 1800’s, opened onto an ally. Dad remodeled the house, switched the back to the front, and where that front door once was turned into the bathroom.
But one of my first memories of my parents giving happened before that change. I still see Mom and Dad taking some of our Thanksgiving turkey to some worker that came up the alley. Now it might have been the mailman the day after Thanksgiving, but whoever the laborer, the part I remember is the sharing. Read the rest of this entry »
“Will he heal? What’s the prognosis?” Family and friends asked that question often when Gary received a diagnosis Pseudomyxoma Peritonei (PMP) in December 2002. I felt exhausted trying to explain what I did not know. Once I shared my meager knowledge with a friend, she proceeded like the old gossip game. By the time she’d told three people what I hadn’t said, her statements gathered momentum and when someone repeated back to me what she told them, I didn’t recognize my friends question or my answer.
Now I’m the subject of the questions. What’s next? What did the doctor say? How much tissue was removed? Is it malignant? When will you return to work? What about your trip to Oregon? Then comes the, “You poor dear, whatever will you do?”
So what do I know? The surgeon’s office called last evening and said to call today at 11. I just called, no report yet. The receptionist is to call me later this afternoon. She also scheduled me to see the doctor tomorrow at 9:30 a.m.
Oh and how do I handle all the questions? Same as I did when husband was sick, write answers. If my answers don’t make sense, oh well.
Years ago my friend Bobbie gave me an adorable ceramic donkey—it still sits in my living room, she also told me the donkey’s story:
There once were two men and a donkey headed to market. The men loaded their backpacks and started to town one on each side of the donkey. A man met them on the way and said, “That looks pretty silly to me, you have a good animal. Why not ride?”One man climbed on the donkeys back. They walked further and met another man who shook his head and muttered, “Perfectly good animal and you are walking?”The men looked at each other and both climbed on the back of the donkey. They walked further and met a woman who glared at the men. “You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Two of you on that humble animal. You’ll kill your beast.”
Both men slid off the donkey in embarrassment.
The moral of the story: No matter what your choice, you cannot please all the people all the time. With that I think I’ll rip the bandages off and take a shower. Think I’ll color my hair, too. Looking young will give my moral a boost.
Life is one big comfort zone for me. Give me a lion, soft comfy shirt and a pillow to prop me up. Do you see I found a super long, navy blue, polka dotted scarf to tie me together. Look happy as a lark, don’t you think? Now I wait.
It’s the wait that gets to me. This morning I decided to crawl out of bed at 5:30 a.m. just to listen to Joyce Meyer. I figured she’d have something worth listening to, and she did.
“You can count on this. You are not your feelings.” Those words were a great comfort. I’m still in wait mode, if I sat around in “feeling zone” I’d have done nothing. Instead I called my old friend Esther in California. Woke her up and you know she didn’t even care. We laughed over old times, hashed a few memories and talked about her caregiving experiences. Read the rest of this entry »