The Three (or more) R's

As I come to the end of Week 2 on the Bible study, I read the last blog post of the week for the study.  In it I found this:

I’ve found great comfort from the conversation Jennifer had with her good friend, Pasty Clairmont, in Chapter 3. During the conversation, Pasty passes along this little nugget:

“Refuse the lies. Replace with good. Repeat for as long as it takes.”

There it is again — REPEAT! For how long? As. Long. As. It. Takes.

Replacing the lies with the good will take time. And that’s okay! So when we find those same lies creeping back in, let’s add a fourth “R” to those three R’s Jennifer shared with us in Monday’s video: Recognize the lie, Refuse it, Replace it with Truth … and Repeat, repeat, repeat, for as long as it takes!

Ridding my Thought Closet of all of the lies that my mother told me is hard. It will take time to clean it out, much like the time it takes me to clean out the clothes that I never wear anymore or that just don't fit or that I don't like much now.  And if you know me at all, you know that I still have some blouses and a dress or two that I have kept around 'just in case I need it' or might wear again...sometime.

But I have to focus on the "R's" that appear above.  I MUST refuse the lies that were told to me over the years.  I MUST replace them with good thoughts.  I MUST repeat for as long as it takes.  

Why?  

Because I am worth it.  

Because I AM a good person.

Because I CAN recognize the difference between truth and lies. 

Because I can't live my life with lies repeating themselves over and over in my head and heart.  Why dwell on falsehoods?

Think of this.  These are the verses that Jim gave me to refer to, to remember, to live by, the very first time I found myself in his office, pouring out my heart to him in June 2002.

Philippians 4: 6-9

⁶ Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
⁸ Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. ⁹ Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

Practice What You Preach

One of the perks of teaching at Ivy Tech was meeting so many neat people, and one of them is Josh Bault.  Josh was an adjunct for us in English and I really enjoyed getting to know him.  His 'regular job' is a minister to a church in Logansport.  His FB posts are usually funny and full of family life, but he also shares thought-provoking tidbits that I often save or store away for future reference.  As usually happens, many of them appear at just the right time---like he knew I needed to hear just what HE had to say.  Get it?

Anyway, today's post was this :  In its simplest definition, integrity is merely practicing what you preach.

Integrity is important.  I will never forget when a Student Council member accused me, in front of the entire Council meeting in the media center at West Central, of stacking the votes in an election.  I would never do that.  Dad drilled honesty into our heads when we were growing up, and Gary and I tried to stress that trait in our daughters. Take it a step further and just do what is right, live by that, and it's all good.

Lately I have been wrestling with my feelings about Mom and her death, and I have talked about them with Gary, the girls, my friends, and my sister.  This week I experienced a change in my attitude, which was prompted by the realization that my Thought Closet needed to be cleaned out, that Soul Talk was important, and that none of it could happen without my faith in the Lord.

I have written about it here in my blog.  I have talked about it with Gary.  I have shared with my sister.  But that isn't enough.  I have to live it.  I must practice what I preach.

"Cleaning out her Thought Closet?  Sure, sure, sure.  That won't last too long!  She will be right back where she was, down in the dumps because she has to control everything and has no common sense."

STOP IT RIGHT NOW!

I am practicing what I have been preaching.  I know it has only been a few days, but I feel so much better now, and I have no intentions of backsliding into the realm of  re-hashing Mom's verbal abuse and why she did it.  No more.  It is over.

Thanks, Josh, for the reminder.  Thanks, Josh, for the words of wisdom that you post so frequently on FB.  I am so glad we became friends.

One Step

My devotional book 365 Devotions:  Savor, Living Abundantly Where You are, As You Are by Shauna Niequist has been lying next to the desktop computer in Hilary's old bedroom for a month or two.  What got in the way of my reading diligently every morning?  The bookmark was between May 18 and May 19.  Mom died on May 19.  Enough said.

This evening I skipped ahead to check out the devotions for today and a few days previous.  Since today is the Summer Solstice, some of her thoughts revolve around the height of summer and common activities, but that isn't what is on my mind today (well, it is, kinda, but not really what I want to write about today).

I jumped back to June 19 to the devotion titled "One Step."  In it Shauna discusses women who are very passionate about a project or activity and pounce on it wholeheartedly and with great enthusiasm.  That has been me at times, but often I burn out and move to something else too soon.  Then I became a little discouraged that I once had so much enthusiasm and really enjoyed an activity but the passion just wasn't there anymore.

The bottom line is this.  We all have passions and activities that we enjoy.  We don't have to lunge at them full force in order to accomplish something.  All we have to do is take one step.  Just one.  After that step another one will follow naturally.  Think about a toddler learning to walk.  Just one step and the sense of accomplishment on that child's face!  Soon there is another step, then one more, then he or she is off and running across the yard, just out of your reach (as I know from experience yesterday when Owen took off and left me-fortunately in their back yard).

Right now so many conflicting things are tugging at my attention.  Cleaning out Mom's house.  Cleaning out the house at The Farm.  Putting the binding on the quilt for our bed.  Finding places for everything we are bringing home from Wooster.  Painting our bedroom.  Enjoying summer time.  Being with the kiddos.  Reading for pleasure.  Sitting in the sunroom enjoying the views.  Sitting in the hot tub.  I can't seem to do it all and what I am doing seems to be done haphazardly. 

I have to remember - one step at a time.  If I take one step, another will follow.  The houses will be cleaned out.  The quilt will be bound.  The room will be painted.  A book or two will be read.  Just relax and take one step at a time.  One step.

It's All about Faith

I just finished reading Chapter 4 in Me, Myself, and Lies by Jennifer Rothschild.  Let me tell you, it is one powerful chapter!   "Speaking Truth to your Issues" is the title and it is what it says.  Issues? Definitely. Speaking the truth?  For sure.

We can store our thoughts in our Thought Closet.  We can dig at the roots of the negative thoughts and get rid of the issues that have spoiled fruit and taint our very beings.

We can Soul Talk until we are blue in the face, trying to bolster our spirits and put positivity back onto the hangers and on the shelves in our closets.

But until we rely on our faith in God, our search for truth in his Word, and take our issues to Him in prayer,  our Thought Closets will continue to be plagued by those negative thoughts creeping in and eventually taking up residence.

I don't want that to happen.  And I will not let it happen.

Issues.  They complicate everything.  They will challenge us.  They will drain us.  They will sometimes isolate us from others because either we are too drained to communicate or we feel like no one would care about us anyway.  But if we allow it to happen, our issues multiply and our thought closets begin to burst at the seams.

Often one issue becomes the focus from which others spin off and for me it was self-esteem.  I couldn't do anything right. No one liked me.  I would never be successful.  This is what my mother told me.  Nothing I ever did or accomplished was good enough.  Heck, I couldn't even clean my house well enough to please her.  

But there comes a time when enough is enough.  There comes a time when no more discriminating words will be spoken.  Ever.  And when that time comes, healing begins.

Giving myself a good talking to helps, but it can only do so much.  There is power in positive self talk, power in feel-good phrases.  But that isn't enough. Soul talk can turn feelings of fear and self-doubt into actions of faith.

By faith we receive truth.  By faith we believe truth.  By faith we act on that truth.

Soul talk is a companion to faith, but it cannot replace our faith.

How do we revive the truth?  Through God's word in the Bible.  Scriptures are the source of good advice and great messages

How do we believe the truth? Through our faith in Jesus Christ who died for our sins and sits on the right hand of God the Father

How do we act on the truth?  Through prayer and by starting each day with a good talking to which shifts the focus from trying to resolve our issues  to turning them over to God

According to Jennifer, "Listen to His voice in your spirit.  Hear what He tells you as you read the pages of your Bible.  And trust what he tells you."

God has never told me that I can't do anything right.  He has presented challenges to me and I have been successful in most of them.  Just the other day a former student told me I was one of two teachers who influenced him the most in high school.  Look at our family!  Gary and I raised two beautiful, respectful, loving daughters and I feel like God is smiling down on them as they raise their 

families with His guidance as well.  

I know  that God loves me and has had a plan for my life.  I know that when I turn to Him in prayer, my daily life is much more peaceful and calm.  When I focus on the negative issues in my Thought Closet, life becomes unsettled and messy.  By relying on my faith in God, I can eliminate the negative residue from my mother's scathing remarks and verbal abuse.  I know that I can.  Why?  Because I have faith. 

Cleaning out the Thought Closet

My current Online Bible Study focuses on the book by Jennifer Rothschild titled Me, Myself, and Lies.  Appropriate title, I think, for many of us who suffer with verbal baggage that we have heard through the years or who tend to attack ourselves with low self-esteem comments.

One thing that has struck me has been the idea of a thought closet, one in which we store those comments made to us by others along with many hundreds, no probably thousands, of thoughts that run through our minds on a daily basis.  If my thought closet is anything like the closet in our bedroom, it is full of items that are important and many that could be pitched.  In fact, even though I  cleaned out the closet a couple of months ago, I know there are still items that should make their way into a Goodwill donation bag soon.

Mom had a way of inserting negative comments into our lives.  That is an understatement.  Most of what she said was negative in some way about someone.  Rarely did she have anything good to say, and no one escaped.  Family.  Friends. Neighbors.  People she read about in the newspaper or in a magazine.  Everyone was subject to her negative comments.

Those are hard to pull out of the thought closet and discard.  They really are.  A couple have stayed with me through the years, including her comment that I liked to always be in control and control others, so much so that she had trouble controlling me.  The other was that I had no common sense.  The first time I heard that was when I tossed a pan of potato peelings into the yard for the chickens and she told me, in front of several cute teenage boys, that I had no common sense because anyone who did would not have put those peelings where I had.  The last time was when I was trying to convince her not to eat any of the applesauce in a jar which had dark brown spots of spoiled fruit in it.

However, I now have accepted this: I need to dig out the roots of those comments and toss them out of my thought closet so the fruit (the words and concepts) can no longer plague me.  Am I controlling?  I don't think so.  I like to be organized. I like to have a plan, especially since it takes an hour to go most of the places we visit and I need to know timetables and if I need to take extra clothes or not.  Do I have common sense?  I think so.  I know enough not to eat spoiled applesauce and i do discard food that has passed the expiration dates.

This will all take time and I can go into my thought closet and chop out all of the nasty roots in just one day.  It may take a few months to clean it up.  But I will do it.  And with that...this is the last time the words 'controlling' and 'no common sense' will be used by me, in reference to me and negative comments by my mother.  I am chopping them out.  Now.

Summer Storms

Yesterday Matt and Landon were tossing the baseball around in the yard at The Farm.  Karen, Gary, Megan, and I were in the house and the others had just ventured upstairs to look at some old games that held some interest for Megan.  When Matt and Cooper came in the house with the report of  'some nasty looking clouds and lots of lightning in the west,' I knew it was time to high-tail it for home so the antique icebox they had loaded in the back of the Escape could be moved into our house before the rain hit.

As I drove home the western sky grew darker and the clouds were rolling. In the rearview mirror I could see spikes of lightning in the direction of Francesville which meant that the storm was heading to our house.  I could envision a three-dimensional picture of my white Escape racing down the Francesville-Pulaski blacktop with dark clouds pursuing it, sunny skies ahead in the east, but forks of lightning punctuating the pursuit with frequent jabs, as if saying 'Hurry!  I am catching up with you!"

I pulled into the drive and backed the Escape toward the garage and sidewalk to the front door.  Matt, Megan, and Cooper were in their vehicle following me.  As I hurried to unlock the front door, Gary and the green Ranger arrived.  In the manipulation of holding the door, watching Cooper so he was out of the way, manuvering the icebox up the steps and around the corner and into the house and across the floor, which had been covered with rugs and a couple of throws, thoughts of the storm just evaporated.  Did the rains come?  Did the house rattle with the sounds of thunder?  Not sure.  My focus was on that icebox and its placement in the living room.

Later in the evening Julie, a friend from Ivy Tech who lives in Galveston, posted on FB that the sound of the thunder was both cool and ominous.  Summer storms are like that.  My response to her post was that every time I hear summer thunder rumbling in the distance and growing louder as it approaches, I think of Washington Irving's short story "Rip Van Winkle."  I taught it many times to 8th graders, and I found an audio version with Will Geer narrating.  I can still hear him reading the explanation given to Rip about thunder - "Henry Hudson and his men are playing nine-pins in the mountains."  That visual of the an explorer with his crew, relaxing after a hard day of breaking through brush and trying to blaze a trail in the New World, bowling in the Catskills, has stuck with me all of these years.  Never do I hear the thunder of an approaching summer thunderstorm without hearing the voice of Will Geer recounting that activity of Henry Hudson and his men. Of course the lightning flashes are the strikes, right?

Summer storms like yesterday's are the kind I like.  Well, maybe not the downpours of rain, but I do like the spottiness of them, the suddenness with which they appear---and disappear.  The fact that one can be driving down a country road and suddenly need to turn on the wipers while looking at the sunbeams dancing on a field just a quarter of a mile away.  Then by the time the wipers have a good start, the sun is shining again. I like watching the sheets of rain moving across a cornfield and hearing the drops rustling the leaves.  I like that I can look at the rain forecast (as I did yesterday) and see 10% chance then notice the change to 90% within a couple of hours because of the pop-up storms.  I like smelling rain as it approaches--and the freshness in the air after it moves east. I like the quick moving in and the quick moving on of a summer rainstorm. I like the natural watering of the flowers, the grass, and the crops.

And I like hearing the rumble of thunder, and the reminder that Henry Hudson and his men are playing nine-pins in the Catskills once again.

Quilts, Quilts, and More Quilts

One of my memories from Spring Meadows Farm is my great-grandmother's quilting frame in the living room.  That massive wooden contraption was centered in the middle of the room with all of the available kitchen and dining room chairs around it for the ladies to sit with their needles and thread to stitch away the afternoon while catching up on the daily news (gossip, you know!).    While I don't remember actually using my own needle to complete any of those tiny stitches, I did sit, watch the progress, and listen to the tales they would spin and the news they would share.  I could hardly wait until I had quilting parties in my living room so I could so the same with my friends.

You know what happened. My great-grandmother died in 1962 and many of her friends followed soon after.  We moved to southern Indiana in 1963 and there was no room in our new house for a quilting frame, plus we were too busy adjusting to a new location, making new friends, and trying to become acclimated to a new school and town that any ideas of quilting went out the window.

Grandma Greta must have continued the quilting tradition in the family, however, because one year for Christmas soon after we moved, she gave Greta, Sherry, and me quilts she had made especially for us.  And later, when Gary and I were married in 1976, she gave us a few more quilts that Great-Grandma and she had made and I placed them on the spare bedrooms upstairs in our old farmhouse.

When Grandma moved out of the farm into an apartment, I knew that something had happened to all of the quilts she had made or that had been made by Great-grandma's sewing circle of friends.  Mom had them, but since she was very possessive about her material possessions and fearful that one of us might like something and want it for our own homes, she rarely talked about the quilts, or anything else for that matter.  Only after Mom died on May 19 were Greta and I brave enough to open the blanket chest and discover the treasures inside.  Not only that, but Gary and Matt uncovered, literally, three more chests (two cedar lined) that contained more quilts.   Plus I found in boxes and bags stacked in the laundry room, more quilt tops that need the finishing touches.  Unfortunately not much is known about who made the quilts specifically or when they were made, except for one with the date embroidered on the border.  They are all beautiful, but the specific history is lost.

This quilt is the one Hilary selected to keep.  There is a stain on the fabric that I hope can be removed.  The colors are beautiful.



The white stitching on the border of this quilt says that it was made by the Ladies Bible Class in Beloit in 1926.  That was the year Mom was born, so I wonder if it were a gift for Grandma for the new baby, perhaps?  Or maybe Mom kept it because it was the year of her birth and maybe the ladies were sitting around the quilting frame while Grandma Greta were pregnant with her - or since she was born in February, while she was just a newborn baby.

 

This one is Megan's choice out of this group.  I like the pattern of this one since it reminds me of the 9-patch that I just made for our queen size bed.

 


The stitching on this quilt is very intricate and really the showcase of this piece.



I like the flowers on this one.  So pretty.


 

And there are more!

While I am really sad that we don't know the stories behind these quilts, they are still beautiful treasures and remembrances from my grandmother, my great-grandmother, and probably several great-great-aunts as well.

Just beautiful!

Ridding the bookshelves

I was an English teacher.  I taught reading and literature.  More importantly I am a reader.  I have been reading since I could put together words in a newspaper while I was sitting on the floor in The Little Brown House on 62.

So....getting rid of books.  How can I do that?  Books are full of life.  Books are precious.  Books are vibrant.  Books take the reader on many adventures, to places they can't travel on their own to meet people they might never encounter in every day life,

Mom had hundreds of books that Megan and I boxed up and took to the used bookstore in Wooster. Some of the titles looked interesting enough or were by authors I enjoyed so they made the trip back to our house.  That presented a problem for me...storage space.

A bookcase in Megan's old room.  A small bookcase in our bedroom.  Some storage on the coffee table.  That was all.  Since the coffee table was being replaced by the blanket chest, that space disappeared.  What to do?  What to do?

Get rid of some books.  Yikes!  Did I really say that?  The process was really quite easy.  Space by space, shelf by shelf, I pulled the books off the shelves and asked myself a version of the same questions,

"Have you read this? Will you ever read it? Is it just taking up space?"

Books I was keeping for teaching purposes were gone.  Books that were purchased or given to me for educational reasons were gone.  Several inspirational books just didn't interest me anymore, so they found a spot in the donation box.  When all the shelves were cleared and re-organized with the books to keep and the ones I had brought from Wooster, plus the few I had kept from the coffee table, I still had space for more and a nice box to take to the used bookstore in Wooster on the next trip.

Hard to part with books?  Yes, in a way.  But after thinking about it, the "maybe I will read it someday" didn't seem like a real possibility anymore.  Who was I kidding?  Some of them I really didn't want to read and I was using the "maybe someday" as a reason to hang onto them.  But the real driving force was this.  After the endless task and all of the frustration of cleaning out Mom's house and knowing she never got rid of anything, I didn't want to be like that.  Better for me to start the de-cluttering process now, on my terms, rather than leave volumes of books for the girls to pull off the shelves years from now,

Plus as soon as I finish a book, unless it is one I have used for an OBS or one that is really really good, it will be given to a friend or donated.  No more keeping books around forever.

Cross that task off the list!

New Post!

Guess what I did today?  I went to Lafayette BY MYSELF and had a mani/pedi with my favorite nail tech, Tina.  Then I shopped for a bridal shower gift for Megan, Karen, and me to give to Erin, Alex's fiancee.  Next I ate BY MYSELF at O'Charley's, but just as I finished, Hilary and Blaine and the kids came in so Landon sat with me until my change came back, then I visited with them for a while before their food arrived.  I stopped at Lowe's and Meijer, then stopped at Rural King for rat poison on the way home.  It felt good to get out and do something that was not related to cleaning out houses and making decisions and just doing what I wanted to do.

As I was driving, I had the urge to write, which is part of the reason behind this blog.  Topics for posts?

-- Adjusting to the not having Mom around as in not wondering how she is or checking to see when the next doctor's appointment is or checking with Greta to hear about her latest rampage

--Cleaning out the house in Wooster - trash and treasure.  Definitely.  One more than the other.

--a normal summer routine - which is odd to even say since most summers I have taught summer session, even when I was teaching high school because of the Purdue classes - or I have been recovering from knee surgery.  I haven't had a 'free' summer in....really, I can't remember when I have had a 'free' summer.  This one isn't either.

--effects of childhood verbal and physical abuse on adults they grew into

--rebuilding one's life

--faith

--overthinking things

--underthinking things

--counting one's blessings

--online Bible studies

--reading for pleasure (haven't done that for a few weeks)

--quilting (haven't done that for a few weeks either)

--importance of family

Many things to ponder.  Notice that none of them popped up today as a blog post.  Maybe tomorrow?  Maybe next week?  Maybe not at all.  Just thinking.

I wasn't found under a cabbage leaf!

This was one of my grandmother's sayings when talking about her heritage.  Family has always been important to me.  During the first 12 years of my life weekends were full of family gatherings, summer meant reunions and playing with second and third and maybe fourth cousins I saw only at these functions, and every holiday meant a great dinner and playtime with the kids in the backyard at an uncle or aunt's house.

Someone said to me after I was married and had been living here for a few years, "Don't YOU have any family?  All I hear you talk about is Gary's family."  Well, yes.  I do have family. None of them live close by.  We didn't visit them often in Ohio.  Mom and Dad didn't live where my cousins lived.  Mom didn't like the Henderson relatives very much and she was estranged from her brother so that meant I never saw the only cousin I had on that side of the family.  Even offers in the last few years to take her to the Cattell reunion were met with her refusal to attend.

My mission in the past few years has been to keep the lines of communication open with my cousins and re-connect with other family.  Heritage is important to me.  Memories are important.  Who else remembers playing in the yard at the cellar house except Ralph and Kay?  Playing games at the low coffee table with Grandma Henderson?  Dale remembers that.  The spinner Christmas ornaments?  Pat and I loved those and she sent me one of Grandma's to add to our tree.  Those are the things that make family special.  Sharing those memories.

At Mom's funeral six of the 13 Henderson cousins were together.  In the week after that I saw four of them.  We plan to get together sometime this summer for a picnic.  More FB messages are exchanged. Plans are made to get together for dinner when we need a break from cleaning out Mom's house.

On Thursday we made another connection.  I had found the original handwritten minutes from the first Cattell reunions.  I needed to pass those on to someone who still was connected with the reunions so they could be added to the other sets.  I contacted Marilyn (Mom's second cousin) who contacted her brother  Phil who then invited us to their home.  We had such a nice talk about various relatives, enjoyed looking at quilts and several piece of antique furniture in their home, and then Phil and his wife Glenda took us to another cemetery to see the graves of my great-great grandparents and those of one of my favorite great-great aunt and great-great-uncle.  Megan was locating graves of those ancestors she had been placing on the Cattell family tree and we took many pictures of the stones.  Heritage.  Names that tied us together.

What was important to me was making the connection.  We shared enough about our lives and made some connections that will tie Megan to that family also.  Plus Phil's son sells club calves and we will be in the market for some nice show animals in a couple of years when Landon is old enough for 4-H.  Family connections.

While this past week was emotional and I found many things in the house that were trashed, I found many treasures too.  Mom did keep everything, much of it worthless.  But she did keep those Cattell Reunion minutes which prompted a trip to Beloit, a visit to the Damascus and the East Goshen cemeteries, and a visit with Phil and Glenda, Mom's second cousins on the Cattell side of the family.

I wasn't found under a cabbage leaf.  I have Cattell blood mixed with the Henderson - and Ritchie - and Clemson - and Kern.

Just rude!

On Friday, May 19, my mother died.  On Saturday Gary and I drove to Wooster to stay at her house, plan and attend the funeral services with our family, and begin the overwhelming task of sorting through decades of her (and Dad's) possessions.

Greta, Kent, Gary, and I had met with the funeral director in January to pre-plan and pre-pay for Mom's services.  All that needed to be done on Saturday was to finalize the date and time of the visitation and the funeral and take the clothes and jewelry for her to wear and any items, such as pictures and mementos, that we would like to display at the services.

Just 30 minutes prior to our leaving for the funeral home, the house phone rang.

Me: Hello! Hendersons...

Female voice:  Is this Greta?

Me:  No.  This is Beth.

Voice:  Oh.  Well, this is Kay Latham.

Me:  Oh, hello.

Voice:  I heard through mutual friends that your mother had passed away, yet we had not been informed.  I checked the funeral home website and there was no information posted and there was no obituary in the Alliance Review.  I was wondering if we were going to be kept in the dark about her services.

Me:  Well, my mother just passed away yesterday morning.  I was in Indiana at the time and I just arrived here a few hours ago.  I did send the obituary to the funeral home last night from my home, and in fact, I need to leave soon for an appointment with the funeral director to finalize the arrangements.  I am sure that everything will be posted on the website soon after our meeting.

Voice:  Well, I just wanted to be sure that we were informed since we didn't receive a call and it seemed like we were being kept in the dark.

Me:  (wondering who this woman is since her name is familiar but I wouldn't know her if she walked up to the door)  No one is being 'kept in the dark.' The tentative arrangements are for Tuesday morning with the visitation starting at 10 followed by the funeral at 11. I am sure the information and the obituary will be published in the paper on Monday.

Voice: Another thing - I sent a Christmas card to your mother.  It was returned to us and written on the envelope was 'Addressee not known' and 'Incorrect address' and "Can not be forwarded.'  I want to know why that was returned with that written on it.

Me:  I have no idea.  Mom had valve replacement surgery on December 15 and was not able to return home since then due to a stroke, pneumonia, and other complications.  Her mail was forwarded to my sister's address.

Voice:  I want to know why this was written on the envelop and why it was returned.

Me:  I really have no idea. I do know that many Christmas cards were received by my sister and we took them to Mom at the hospital or at the rehab center to share with her so she did know that people had sent cards to her.  But I don't know why yours was returned.  I was not here and the post office handled the forwarding.

Voice:  I have the card.  I kept it for evidence and I want to know why it was returned.

Me:  I really don't know why.  We asked that all of her mail be forwarded to my sister's address.

Voice:  All right.  Can I have your address please?

Me:  Sure.  4822 W. 550 S  Winamac, IN 46996

Voice:  thank you.  I do want to get to the bottom of this and I do have the card as evidence with the writing on the envelope.

Me:  I really do need to go now since we are meeting my sister and her husband at the funeral home soon.

Voice:  I hope the funeral information is in the paper and on the website.

Me:  It will be.  Thank you for calling.  Bye.

Later I told Greta about the call and she wondered who this Kay Latham was.  I know I had heard the name before but I didn't know the connection to Mom and Dad or where they lived.  I assumed from her conversation that mutual friends were one of the four (Casey, Marleen, Maxine, Jim) since they are the only friends that we had contacted.  Everyone else was family, the hairdresser, the companion from Comfort Keepers, or neighbors.

After the services when we were discussing the people who attended, none of us remembered seeing Tom and Kay Latham.

Fast forward to Wednesday, May 31.  Gary finally was able to pick up our held mail.  I sorted through the bag, separating it into bills. junk mail, newspapers, and sympathy cards.  Finally I started slitting the envelopes and reading through each card.

The return address on one was Tom and Kay Latham from Homeworth, Ohio.  Interesting.

I opened the envelope and inside was not a sympathy card.  Inside was the evidence.  The Christmas card!  she had written a note on it that this was the card she had been referring to in the phone call.  Also a donation to Alliance Hospice had been made in memory of Dad and Mom, who were such nice people.  Then she signed it, Hugs, Kay.  There was a PS - No need to send a thank you.

I had to laugh.  I couldn't believe that instead of a sympathy card, she sent the Christmas card that she was fussing about.  As I looked at it, there were no handwritten notes on it.  Instead there was a yellow printed strip from the post office that said the addressee was unknown, it could not be delivered as addressed, and it couldn't be forwarded. Not handwritten at all. An automated strip from the PO.  The address looked correct.  But I have no idea why it was not forwarded---nor do I care.  Moot point now.

I called Greta.  I called Megan. I called Hilary.  We all had a good laugh and a few "Unbelievable!"  and "Are you kidding me???" and "What a witch!" (and another, as in replacing the 'w' with a 'b').  Later in the stack I opened a sympathy card from the same people with a note that said they knew Mom and Dad from Antique Gas and Steam Engine shows.  Ok.  That explains the connection.

I sent a thank you note.  I did not mention the Christmas card.  Why stir the pot?  As I said, moot point now.

Then today I took the envelope off the stack to put with the things for the return trip to Ohio so I can show it to Greta.  I was thinking about the entire scenario again.  One thing finally occurred to me - that woman was incredibly rude.

My mother had just died after a long battle with a bad heart valve, with pneumonia, with congestive heart failure.  She had survived a stroke and several heart attacks.  She had been hospitalized several times over the course of 6 months and was residing in a retirement center where she could be cared for properly.  And this woman called her house, talked to her daughter (me), and the first thing she wanted to know was why she had been kept in the dark?  She never said one word of sympathy.  She never offered condolences.  She didn't inquire as to Mom's last days.  She never said how much she would miss Mom or share any memories.  She jumped right in with an accusation of being 'kept in the dark' and emphasized her need to know the service arrangements.  Then she had the audacity to demand an explanation for a returned Christmas card, that she was keeping as evidence, as if we were the ones who were censoring Mom's mail and preventing the delivery of Christmas cards from her friends.  Who does that?

Then she didn't even come to the services.  They did not send flowers or any other token of remembrance.  But they did make a donation to hospice, which we appreciated, but there was a message that no note of thanks would be needed, as if that were a reflection on our manners because we wouldn't know to write notes of appreciation.

I am a little curious about these people.  I don't remember sending them a note asking for cards for Mom's 90th birthday or for cards for Mom and Dad's 60th anniversary.  Mom didn't say after her 90th birthday picnic in July "Oh I wish you had invited Tom and Kay Latham."  They must not have been such close friends that they should have been included.

But as I said.   Moot point.  It really doesn't matter.  But it was just rude.