GOLDIES' GETAWAY

"Let's have an oldies' girl getaway!"

"Great idea!"

"I don't like being called an oldie! I don't FEEL old!"

"Well, you ARE! We all are."

"We all use Lady Clairol to look blond too." (When we saw our first gray hairs, we thought we'd dye.)

"Well then to match our hair, let's call ourselves Goldies instead of Oldies."

It was said. It was done. When all was said and done, more was said than done. But it was the first of several reunions with my college girlfriends. For a few days at the beach we are no longer wives, mothers or grandmothers, just girls again.

Sometimes there are half a dozen or more, other times maybe three. The fun remains. Let me share a few of our escapades.

Beverly arrived at my house a few hours before Jan's plane landed. So we ate lunch then headed to meet her at Florence Airport. It had been years since we'd seen each other, even though Jan and I go back to when we were 14 years old. Bev and I sat chatting in the white, wooden rockers in the waiting area. It's a small, homey airport. The plane landed and we watched the passengers parade before us.

No Jan.

"Excuse me," I intercepted a flight attendant, "but could you see if Janice Banks was on the passenger list please?"

After checking the roster, "Yes. Her name is right here."

But where was Jan?

I phoned her as we strolled to baggage a few yards away. "Jan! Where are you? What happened?"

"Where are YOU?" she echoed.

"Bev and I are waiting at the airport for you."

"Well, I'm right here!"

"Where? We just watched everybody get off."

"I'm right here in baggage..."

Suddenly I was hearing in stereo. A tall, gray haired lady in front of me was saying the same words I was hearing in the phone, "...right here in baggage."

She spun around and a spontaneous group hug combusted! OK. So we don't all use Lady Clairol. She had changed, grown older, so we didn't recognize her. I'm not quite sure why she didn't recognize us in our rockers though. Walked right by us.

Fast forward about 3 or 4 years. Same scenario. Bev and I are at the airport, determined to be alert this time; we were off our rockers, holding a sign like chauffeurs hold at airports for dignitaries. I even brought a pair of those ridiculously over-sized sunglasses and we wore bright leis. We were catching up as the passengers deboarded. So engrossed in conversation, we didn't spot her...again!

Until we heard a loud, "A-HEM!" as Jan froze in place, cocked her head and waited for recognition. I threw on the glasses as Bev hoisted the sign.

Too little. Too late.

The fun followed us to Myrtle Beach. Out shopping one day in Hamricks, we spotted red hats! Jan asked a lady to take our picture as we tried them on. Oh! We are so Red-Hatish!

Then we fanned out to find bargains with no particular plans to meet back up. Armed with cell phones, we knew we could find each other so we agreed to stay in the store. I eventually checked out, circled the store but couldn't find either of them. So I headed to the restroom, dialing as I entered the stall.

"Hey. It's Kat. I looked all over for you two. Did you leave the store? Where are you?"

Bev said one word, "Listen."

I did. A toilet flushed in the stall next to mine AND in my ear from the cell phone. Stereo again! Then her hand waved at me under the dividing wall. Jan was laughing from the other side of me, waving too. Great minds think alike and old bladders work in sync.

Our last trip together we strolled Barefoot Landing and had more fun with hats, groovy shades and '50's scenes with Elvis and the Blues Brothers. We're very easily amused.

One trip a larger group of us lingered at the restaurant table long after most patrons left. Our young waitress enjoyed frolicking with us. We started singing and she was obviously shocked, "Wow! You all really sound good!"

Bev explained we used to sing together.

"Well, you still sound good." Probably hoping for a good tip.

"We were cheerleaders too."

Even more shocked, the waitress, repeated, "Wow!" as she scanned the middle-aged, overweight oldies...I mean goldies. (Our circumference was from too much pi.)

"Yep," Bev continued, "This is what cheerleaders look like forty years later."

"Wo-oow!" poor thing murmured. Her young brain cells could not compute what she heard with what she saw before her. Now that's probably gonna hurt her tip!

Sometimes it's hard to look in the mirror and absorb it ourselves!

I flew to OK to be with Jan last year as she received her doctorate. She's the smart one. I know her husband, Jerry, was smiling at us from heaven that special day.

Dr. Jan Banks loses her dignity as I become the wind beneath her. . .stole!

But when we get together, the years melt away. We laugh, cry, sing, pray, talk and maybe next year we'll even cheer! Getting here together is something to celebrate, maybe even cheer about!

Golden Aged,

Kathy

LIKE A FATHER TO ME

Thinking about Father's Day I remember Daddy and times past. I think of him in heaven and my mind goes to a future reunion. There's a mixture of melancholy, peace and joy in all those thoughts mingling.

Then my mind goes to someone who was like a daddy to me. My big brother, Bert, was 7 years older than I. He still is. That span gave him an unofficial role, especially when Daddy was out to sea as a naval officer. He became the man of the house. Ricky and I loved bragging about our big brother because his age usually pulled rank on anybody else's big brother.

Now Bert has been a wonderful father to his own two children, Brian and Karen. But he practiced for that role on Ricky and me during our growing up years. He'd cheer me on in my victories and soothe my wounds in my failures. He taught me many things from playing the accordion to shooting marbles and burning ants with a magnifying glass. Cheering, comforting, teaching. Isn't that a father's role? Well, maybe not burning ants. He was like a cool dad!

Bert even calls me Honey like a father would his own daughter. When Daddy died, Bert quietly slipped into that role permanently as our patriarch. I'd call him, sometimes in tears, over burdens on my heart. He'd offer wisdom. Then he'd always add, "I'll be praying with you about that." And I knew he would. Just like Daddy.

He's my treasure this Father's Day and I honor him for teaching us how to live. He doesn't have very big feet, but his godly footprints are huge and clear.

Just today we talked on the phone. He's weak from chemo treatments but wanted to say, "Honey, I want you and Doug to pray with me about something. . ." And he knew I would.

Bert, I love you dearly. I know you're in God's hands and nothing can take you out of them. But you're also in my heart and nothing can take you from there either.

Thank you for being more than my big brother. Happy Father's Day!

I love you,

Kathy

COWBOYS AND GRANDSONS

"Nana, is this plaid?"

"No, Honey, those are checks."

He raced back to his bedroom, his shirt flapping on the hanger. Seconds later, he dashed back with another shirt in tow, "Is this one plaid, Nana?"

"No, son." I wondered why my four-year old grandson cared so much about fashion if he didn't even know what plaid was. His third trip to me confirmed he had indeed found a plaid shirt.

"If you don't know what plaid is, why did you want to wear a plaid shirt?"

"Cause cowboys wear plaid!" he beamed.

Now, I have nine grandsons so this one shall remain nameless to protect him. He was definitely in the cowboy phase of his youth, as was his older brother. Doug, an avid wood-worker, loved to craft old-fashioned toys for our grands: rubber band guns, marbles down the ladder chute and marshmallow shooters. I remember my own Daddy making toys for us too, like bull roars! Must be Father thing, so it's appropriate this week as we remember and honor our dads.

Any parent knows you can't predict the favorite toy at Christmas. Lots of money is spent, only to find that the box itself or the Dollar Tree light sabre ranks #1!

Doug made two hobby horses, each crafted to reflect the boys' personalities.

Those horses were their Velveteen rabbits of toys, loved and frayed. The broom-handle saddles got a lot of miles. The horse heads lost an eye here and there. The mane grew...well, mangy. But every day both brothers grabbed their beloved horses and galloped through the house into their imaginary sunsets.

My little plaid-shirted grandson is a bit of a maverick himself, so Doug carved that spirit into his horse's head. Nostrils flared, ears perked high. Mane stiffened and bristled. One day he'd disobeyed and his dad said, "OK, Son, you may not ride your horse today." Now that was punishment to any cowboy.

Evening and bath time came. Dad dried off the boys and the older one ran naked to get his horse for one last trot. Kids love to romp naked. Helps the drying process too. The younger boy, forgetting his punishment, scurried for his horse as well, when Daddy gently remind him, "Remember your punishment. You can't ride today."

His face dramatically drooped, shoulders slumped and his head hung low.

Hang down yer head, Tom Dooley...

THEN his creative side kicked in. Downcast, he spotted an alternative hobby horse. How shall I say this? He grabbed his little, naked self with one hand, slapped his bare backside with the other, then whooped, "YEE-HAW!" He galloped right behind his older brother all through the house.

Imaginations are wonderful things. So are cowboys and grandsons!

Proud Nana,

Kathy

I read this to my grandson on his birthday. He laughed out loud because he didn't remember it. So to him it was a "new" story. I asked his permission to share it with you here. He said yes but preferred to remain nameless. I love you, _______POO!

ME FIRST!

Kimberly needed help with homework. Kent disappeared because it was his time for piano practice. Katy was whining for supper. Supper was raw chicken, still on the counter. The phone rang but no one stopped to answer it. Doug popped in the door chirping, "Honey, I'm home!"

Moms everywhere live this scene daily. Doug was a bigger help than most men at those chaotic times. Later that night with the kids asleep, dishes done and the phone finally silent, we chatted. The subject turned serious, as I thought about trying to rear three children without him there.

"Doug, I was thinking today about what if one of us died."

His eyebrows went up. "You feeling OK?"

"I'm fine. But honestly and selfishly, my greater fear, more than death, is living without you. I'd rather God take ME FIRST than leave me here to raise these children without you. How do you feel? Don't try to be noble. How do you feel...honestly and selfishly?"

He hesitated, thinking, then sighed, "Well, honestly and selfishly...I think I'd rather Him take you first too."

WELL!

Sometimes husband agreeing with wife is not exactly what you want. But I asked! Since then, we don't often discuss such honest, heart-wrenching, imaginary choices.

When Daddy died suddenly, unexpectedly, Mama said many times, "This isn't the way it was supposed to be. I told Elbert I didn't want to outlive him. God was supposed to take ME FIRST!"

Mama couldn't imagine living without Daddy, her essential half. But she did.

Wives generally will outlive their husbands. Now my odds may have changed a few years ago, when I was diagnosed with diabetes. So if you hear I died before Doug, you'll know we both got our 'druthers! Unless he's changed his mind, and I'm not asking.

When the kids would selfishly call out, "Me first!" over the chocolate cake, I'd discourage it. How? By letting the other kid slice two pieces, then allow the Me-First-Kid first choice. They learned to slice equal portions to the millimeter!

My younger self thought many things were essential to life. Perhaps my identity and security were tied up in some of those things and roles. Today, I travel lighter. With my identity in Christ alone, my essentials are eternal. Sounds simplistic. It is. In concept. Doing it is another matter...ongoing growth.

Now there are still some things I LIKE to travel with--like my own pillow. You should see those airport security guards when they open my carry-on to find my travel essentials--a pillow, canned collards and grits! My northern daughters have me bring their travel essentials because Southern delicacies are not readily available in Canada and Minneapolis!

In her last years, Mama's wheelchair was essential for travel. But this whole life is just a travel to the next. What's truly essential?

In this life we will have troubles, struggles. Guaranteed. Most are not of our choosing. Many are unexpected and difficult. Others we see coming and brace for the impact. Life happens.

God's in control, even when we're not. Leaving those choices in His hands is best. He knows me better than I know myself. You too. He's enabled me to live through things I never thought I could survive. That's because of grace. But He supplies it as we need it. Grace for the journey--essential.

"The Finger that points the way is attached to the Hand that will provide."

I used to worry about future fears, like outliving our money, or needing to go to an assisted living center. God's proven Himself over and over through life's curve balls. That process in me has done two things: freed me from worry and grown my faith.

"Fear and faith can not abide in the same tabernacle."

I'druther not have gone through tough times, but that's exactly where He met me. He shouts to us in our pain, if we listen. I learned to lean on those everlasting arms, sometimes at very sharp angles, no strength within me to stand alone. Coming to the end of the rope, I let go and God caught me.

He will for you too, no matter what life brings. Or even death.

"Nothing can separate us from the love of God." HE is life's One Essential!

Mama never chose to be a widow. Mama never chose a stroke. Mama never wanted to be in a wheelchair. But look what she left behind!

She has all she needs, loves and wants...for eternity! So can you!

"Seek ye FIRST the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things (earthly essentials) will be added unto you." God says, "Me first." It's HIS rightful place.

"You're all I want in heaven! You're all I want on earth! When my skin sags and my bones get brittle, God is rock-firm and faithful...I'm in the very presence of God--oh how refreshing it is! I've made God my home. God, I'm telling the world what you do!" (Psalm 73:25, 26, 28 The Message)

Eternally yours because I'm eternally His,

Kathy

http://proverbs31devotions.blogspot.com/2010/06/hold-that-thought.html

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If you think grammar is grueling and punctuation is boring, this blog may change your thinking.

HYPHEN:

Here's an example of the importance of a well-placed hyphen.

Sunday evening service at a small Florence church was song time. Requests flowed freely. "Mrs. Buckley, would you like to come sing your song for us tonight?" She had written a song and was well known for it within her small congregation. She sang it often. So this impromptu request was nothing new.

"Well, actually I wrote a new song this week," she ambled down the aisle, guitar in hand. As she tuned it, she shared, "The Lord gimme this one, so I hope it blesses you."

She strummed an F chord then began to twang,

"I feel like hel,

I feel like hel,

I feel like hel-ping someone today."

I have days like that too. Both.

COMMA:

Do you know how important the comma is? Leaving one out makes brilliant bovine!

* We spent most of our vacation time sitting on the back porch watching the cows playing Scrabble and reading.

* In an estate dispute, a judge ruled that in the case of Tom, Dick and Harry, Tom got 50% while Dick and Harry split 50%, since Tom was considered a single entity and Dick and Harry were an entity. If the will had been written Tom, Dick, and Harry, they would have each received 33 1/3% of the inheritance.

* The burglar was about 30 years old, white, 5'10", with wavy hair weighing about 150 pounds.

* Punctuation is important but was non-existent in Greek. So it was added in scripture to clarify meanings for us. Here's an example of the effects of a comma from Eph. 4:20. The original wording did not include the words "but rather" and read:

"Let him who stole, steal no more. Let him labor with his hands."

A slight rearranging of punctuation reverses the meaning:

"Let him who stole, steal. No more let him labor with his hands.

* Commas saves lives: "Let's eat Grandpa." vs. "Let's eat, Grandpa."

* Here's an actual Blizzard ad:

Yummo! I love Girl Scouts! Especially the chocolate mint ones.

Granted, English is weird. Why is the word abbreviation so long? Is the cruel person who put the S in lisp the same one who thought the word phonics should start with a PH?

Agreed, English is also a difficult language. That's why it's a subject you take from grade school right into college!

GENERAL GRAMMAR:

Here are a few from a friend and fellow wordsmith, Judy Combs:

* The family lawyer will read the will tomorrow at the residence of Mr. Hannon, who died June 19 to accommodate his relatives.

* Organ donations from the living reached a record high last year, outnumbering donors who are dead for the first time.

* Residents will be given information on how to reduce the amount of garbage they generate in the form of lectures, printed literature, and promotional items.

* The body was found in an alley by a passerby with a bullet in his head.

* Mrs. Shirley Baxter, who went deer hunting with her husband, is very proud that she was able to shoot a fine buck as well as her husband.

* I told my son to take his father up the stairs his shirt.

* * *

The book, Eats, Shoots and Leaves, by the UK author Lynne Truss, has fun with this subject. The joke upon which the title of this book is based goes roughly like this:

A panda walks into a restaurant and eats a meal. He picks up a pistol, fires it at the waiter, and walks out.

As the panda's leaving, the victim moans, "Why?"

The panda shrugs, "I'm a panda; look it up."

With his last burst of strength, the man grabs a dictionary (yes, there is a dictionary in the restaurant) and reads the following entry:

Panda: Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves."

And on that ridiculous note, I shall make like a tree and leaf!

Kathy

(sans dangling participles)