The time has come for rest at last
I've worked so hard toward this summer blast
Vacation time at last is here
The beach is the place that I hold dear
So you won't see anything new for a while
Until I come back from across the miles!!!
I'll be adding pictures from the beach when I return.
I hope everyone who reads this has a chance to get away from it all if even for a little while.
Peace - and have a wonderful summer!!!!
(NOTE ABOUT PICTURE - This is a RARE picture of Julie with her cage door open and her NOT attached to some part of my hand..LOL)
Mean Julie was purchased alone - not good for a love bird. These little birds need and want to be a "pair". She learned early on that if she wanted to be left alone, BITE the hand that feeds you...LOL.
Julie is also a "screamer" - she can hit notes that will leave your ears ringing. I use a shop vac when I lcean out the other bird's cages but with her I scoop her into a large plastic jar, screw on the lid, hurridly clean the cage, seed cups and water bottle and then dump her back in. I use heavy leather gloves - she has bitten right through them. She seems to be happy as long as she is left alone. She and the cockatiels "fuss" at each other, and she sleeps in a plastic drinking cup. I dropped it in her cage one day when I was filling up the inside seed cups and she claimed it and DARED me to try and get it. At night she goes into it head first (the cup is turned over on the side) and in the morning one of the first things I hear are her little toenails clicking on that cup as she back out to greet the world.
Two years ago, she laid 26 non-fertile eggs, and immediately destroyed them. I think she is in perpetual PMS...LOL.
Sam is a double yellow head Amazon parrot. He is beautiful with his gorgeous yellow head, emerald green feathers with touches of red and blue. He was a give away - like all my birds. The people who had him couldn't keep him anymore and so he came to live with me. It took me three months before I could even rub his head through the bars of his cage. He is extremely fearful of any man - I think he was mistreated by a man before I got him. He hates my son, and Ryan has never done anything to hurt or scare him.
Now Sam is My baby. He calls me "Mother" and loves to play "tickle toes". He loves fresh fruits and vegetables and really will eat anything we do. He LOVES pizza and starts dancing on his perch when the pizza delivery guy shows up. He loves all meat - but no fish. He loves his bath and will stretch his wings all the way out for me to mist under then. He "mutters" to himself when he is mad or upset. he does not like the dogs at all.
Millicent - Millie - how can I explain just what this little dog means to me. Two years ago, I lost both of my precious little pekingese within months of each other. Shawna was 16, and Barney, her "pup" was 13. I lost Barney in March after a long bout with arthritis and bone degeneration. Shawna followed in June, after loosing her sight and having what I think as "doggyzimer's disease". I had them both "put to sleep" and I held each one (as I do all my animals) until the spark of life faded and finally went out. Because I had been through so much with Barney, his death was devastating to me. I cried for days, and Millie was right there will me. She tried to hard to fill the void that he left, and she did a wonderful job. She became my little bed partner, my confidant, my baby. No dog could ever take Barney's place in my heart, but Millie made her own place, right next to him.
Millie is smart - almost too smart. She "figures things out". For example, if she flips her toy up on the table or desk. She will sit and "figure out" how to get it. It is very funny to watch her. She is a wonderful little watch dog also - NO ONE comes in our yard when she is out. She does not like to be in a crowd of people, she becomes very fearful. This is my fault because I did not get her socialized when she was a puppy. But she is my baby and I love her way tooooo much.
Right now I have two fur babies - Abigail, a Yorkshire Terrier, and Millicent (Millie) a mutt.
Abby is a typical Yorkie - she thinks she is a pit bull. She will tackle ANYTHING and she usually wins. She is a "blue and gold" yorkie, but I have her clipped for the summer so the blue and gold is not prominent, she just look sort of tan and gray. She is a real sweetie, loves everyone and is always ready to go for a ride in the car. She loves squeeky toys and have enought to fill an ark! She has her favorites, but don't dare touch any of them unless you are ready to play.
She and Millie are best buds and play together, eat together and sleep together (with me). She absoutely HATES a bath and you have to surprise her to catch her to put her in the sink.
(NOTE ABOUT THE PICTURE: This was taken after our "Hillybilly" show - we really clean up rather nicely..LOL!)
3D Mystery Shows - "Delightfully, Deadly Dinner" - what a fun job to do. This is my alter ego - actress DIVA - haha! I love theatre and I love being "on stage". Comedy is my forte - and I'm pretty good at it. I'm not afraid to go "over the top" in order to get the audience involved and laughing. I've done a LOT of theatre in my lifetime and I only really started in 1982. All my roles have been pure comedy or the "comic relief" in a serious play. I don't think I could do a lot of serious stuff - I'm not a "serious" person. I love life, I love to laugh and I love to make people laugh.
3D Mystery Shows provides the customer with dinner and a murder - all in one setting. The object is to figure out "who done it" and why. So far I haven't been the murderer, but I sure have "died" a lot. We do this shows on Friday nights so it doesn't conflict with my other two jobs. And it brings in a little extra money and it's fun.
My fellow actors are great, and we have our own little "family". We are a classy bunch.
(NOTE ABOUT PICTURE: This was taken Christmas 2001, when Dolly made a special trip to the park to have her picture made with her employees. I am in the 3rd row right behind her shoulder - dark green shirt - it was great!)
DOLLYWOOD, Pigeon Forge, Tennessee! Yep - on weekends from April until the end of the year, I work for Dolly Parton. AND let me tell you, she is one special lady. Everyone always asks me - have you ever met her? Sure - and she is one of the nicest people you would ever want to meet. She has always said about herself "what you see is what you get" and that is exactly what she is like. Two years ago she came to the park during Christmas and had her picture made with her employees. I treasure this picture of I have of her and my team from Dollywood.
I work the River Rampage ride. It is a big, inner-tube boat ride and we guarantee to get you wet - right down to your underwear. It's a great ride on a hot summer day - the perfect way to "cool off". The people I work with there are great - we all get along so well together and everyone is always willing to help each other out. The work itself is hard - we are out in the sun most of the day and it gets pretty hot. Our supervisor and team lead make sure that we all drink plenty of water, and we get rest breaks. It's not really the ride itself that brings me back each year (this is my 5th year working the Rampage), it's my team.
Dollywood also has it own medical facility on the park for hosts (that what we are called - hosts). For me it is great since I don't have health insurance from my main job.
If you gotta work another job - you might as well work at a fun place - and Dollywood is a FUN place to work.
Ryan goes with me and he knows everyone on the park - and they know him. Everyone treats him like he is a vip and he loves it. He knows ALL the girls in ALL the shows, their birthdays and where they are from. He loves the rides, especially the new rollercoaster that just opened this year, Thunderhead.
Christmas at Dollywood is really special. My ride closes the end of October and I am usually "on call" for one of the other rides (if they need me). The park is completed covered in lights of all colors, with special Christmas show and music and it is just a delightful place to be. Ya'll come on and visit us - ya hear????
(NOTE ABOUT PICTURES: The first one is my desk - messy but "home" - the second is my boss - a truly wonderful employer and friend)
Well - I was going to start writing about my friends but I decided to write about my jobs instead. I have three of them. This is my "main" job - the job that pays most of my bills.
Monday through Friday I am a paralegal to one of the finest attorneys in the business. Now yes, I am partial, but I'm also honest. My boss is great. Ours is a small office - just him and me. We are the business. I do everything from answering the phones, to scheduling appointments, to collecting fees, to depositing his money, to paying his bills (business and personal), to going to court with him, making court appearances for him (just to let the judge know if he is sick or in another court - I don't represent our clients in court), doing research, preparing legal documents, ordering supplies, and oh yes - I vaccum and make coffee.
Now the legal business is never the same day twice. We have clients who are great, some not so great, and some are just plain nuts! Most of the people who walk into our office are either very sad, very scared or very angry. You learn how to deal with them. You don't argue - it gets you nowhere. What you try to do is figure out why they are sad, scared or angry, and what, if anything, you can do to either fix the situation or defuse it. I can't always fix it, but I'm pretty good at defusing.
I live about 5 minutes from my job. It is GREAT working so close to home. It is also great to be able to handle a lot of personal business during my lunch hour, like paying phone bills, electric and gas bills, going to the post office, etc. - oh yes, and eating lunch.
I don't make the "big bucks" at this job. I could possibly finda job that would pay me more money and give me benefits - that's right - I have no insurance. I do get paid vacation and sick days, although I have never used a sick day since I have worked for him (1993), but no health insurance. But I could NEVER find a better person to work for who is so flexible. If I need time off to do something, he has never said no. I don't abuse it, and he knows that. AND I try to schedule this things so that he is not inconvenienced. He is just a nice guy. I had known him as a fellow thespian before I came to work for him. We get along well.
My office here is "mine" - it is interesting. I spend more time here than I do at home,thus a have a lot of things in my office that I like so that I can enjoy them. The top of my desk is covered in stuffed animals that have been gifts to me that I love. I have a collection of beanie babies and I rotate them about my office.
More on jobs later - time to go home.
As I was growing up, I always wanted a sibling. An only child gets away with nothing!! I mean - who can we blame it on - the dog? I grew up an only child - not knowing that I had a half-brother and half-sister until I was in junior high (that's middle school for you "younger" people). I didn't even meet them until I was in college.
I adored my sister, Yvonne. I wanted so much to have that "sister" relationship with her. It was not to be. She was always pleasant to me, always kind, but there was a reserve that I just couldn't break down. Although I was never told and I have never asked, I had the feeling that the breakup of my father's first marriage was not a happy one, and I am sure that they resented my own mother. That would be very normal. I think it had a lot to do with the fact that I had Daddy while I was growing up - she didn't. I think she resented me in a way - and I understand that. We wrote letters to each other and occasionally we saw each other. My own mother understood my need and she supported me in my desire to know my siblings, but I also knew it worried her. After my mother's death, I saw more of my sister and her husband than before. We would get together with my brother and his wife for dinner and after a bit even exchanged Christmas presents.
When Yvonne died of a cerebral hemmorahge, I was devastated. I was with her when she died and I hope with all my heart that she knew how much I really loved her and how proud I was to be her sister.
Now my brother - my hero. What got us together was a trip to Germany. How about that!
In 1990 my father's family in Germany sent me the money for Ryan and me to visit them. A wonderful, wonderful woman, Marian (who became "Grandma" to Ryan) went with us. You'll learn more about Marian later on. It was a wonderful 10 day visit. I met my cousins, two aunts and got to see where my father had been born and raised. I loved Germany, but couldn't see us living there permanently. All my relatives asked about my brother and sister and did I ever see them and talk to them. I was only too happy to share the information that I had When I came home I contacted my brother and sister and offered to share the pictures and experience. My brother and sister in law expressed a lot of interest and I told him he should go over and visitthem too, that they were his family too. He looks so much like my father and I knew the relatives over there would go crazy over him.
They did visit Germany and after they came back it was like a door had been opened between us - we were, at last, brother and sister, and oh how I love him and my wonderful sister-in-law Jewel. Ryan has a definate case of hero worship where Leon is concerned. He can't wait for the times when we meet them for supper. We talk on the phone and now I can't imagine life without him. I love him soooo much. I'm sure I'll think of other things to say about both my brother and sister later on.
Next entry: Friends
Ah.....life with a teenager....there were days when I would lock myself in the bathroom, sit on the edge of the tub and say "What was I thinking when I thought I could do this all by myself?" Oh we had our moments..when he turned 12 he had a mouth smart enough to graduate from Harvard. But he always apologized - he knew he done wrong. I ended up apologizing to him too - a lot - for loosing my temper, shouting at him.. he would say - "I know Mom, I still love you."
High school for him was scary to me. Not to him - he enterd high school with the same "I can do it" attitude that had enabled him to crawl, walk, run, and endear himself to all who met him. He went to the city high school with the kids he had been all through elementary and middle school with plus a lot of new kids. Some of those kids who had teased him in middle school...called him "dummy" and "retard"..now became protective of him, helping him get from one class to another, showing him how to work his locker in gym - I guess they matured too. The special education teachers were awesome. He loved them all and tried to hard to please them. He worked hard (for the most part - he did love to daydream), was never a discipline or behavior problem and soon ALL the kids at the high school knew Ryan.
Ryan's special gift was an amazing ability with numbers. For example, you could ask him "What day of the week did February 2, 1975 fall on" AND HE COULD TELL YOU - and he was right - EVERY TIME. He could give you the dates of "all the Tuesday in June of 1986", tell him your birthday once and he never forgot it. The kids at school loved to stop him in the hall and say "Hey Ryan - when's my birthday?" and he would tell them and what day it would be on this year or next year. He loved the attention and all the kids. Oh sure, there were some kids that would tease him, and sometimes he would cry, but for the most part, his high school days were wonderful.
The school had a program called "Community Based Training" (CBT) for the special education kids. Each day for a couple of hours the school would transport the kids to various businesses in our town and they would "work" at various jobs. This helped the teachers to know what kind of work these kids would be capable of doing after they graduated. Ryan worked at several difference business during this years at the the high school. He loved working in the cafeteria at our hospital. He was in charge of putting the frozen rolls and biscuits on the larg ebaking pans and then sliding them into racks ready to be baked. The hospital staff loved him because he was one of the few kids that could get the right number of rolls or biscuits in the right number of rows on the trays. He had to used NUMBERS and he loved it. He also worked at Wal-mart, straightening up shelves and putting out stock. This was a little harder for for him to stay focused on but he continue to try and do his best. His last CBT assignment in high school was working at McDonald's at Walmart. His job was too keep the tables and chairs wiped off and clean up around the drink machine, make coffee, and empty trash. This was his best job in that he stayed focused on it the entire time he was working. The staff at McDonald's loved him because he was so polite and friendly.
I let Ryan graduate in 2001 with the kids he had been all through school with. Since he could, by law, remain in school until he was 22, he then returned for "post graduate" work. This past May of 2004 was his last year in high school. We weren't sure just what the world held in store for Ryan.
About two weeks before school ended, his CBT teacher came to me with incredible news. McDonalds wanted to HIRE Ryan to work for them after he finished school!! We were ecstatic! He had a job!! A paying job!! He would be working 2 hours a day for however many days I could get him there. I tried for every day, but just couldn't do it because of my paralegal job. But now we have a schedule - 3 days a week (2 mornings and 1 evening) and it's working out great.
Ryan is a good kid - young man - and I am blessed each day that I have with him. He has friends he will never forget or who will forget him. I think the world will be kind to him, even after I'm gone. My goal is to provide him with a decent home to live in when I am gone and a small trust to supplement his SSI.
I'm sure that I will remember other incidents with my parents and Ryan and will add them "out of order" in this journal, but I think I've covered the highlights...for now.
Next entry: My brother and sister
Well - I took him home - home to a little cabin I shared with two dogs and four cats - all former farm animals that I couldn't leave behind. The dogs were accepting, especially Skipper (remember him?) but the cats were in a state of denial - how COULD I do this to them? Upset their quiet lives with a squalling, damp, drooling human who asked for (and got) all my attention most of the time? They kept their distance - which was fine with me.
The first night I had Ryan home - I knew he could hear and I knew he could see - just how well it was hard to tell, but I got him to respond to light and sound. He had a condition known as "sunset eyes" - his eye muscles were too weak to pull his eyes up so you could only see half of the iris and pupil. His neck muscles were way too weak to support that huge head of his. But he could kick those feet and he had a temper! Somehow, having him home with me - things didn't seem to be so bad - the future not so grim. His foster mother had told me he cried all the time - and he did - until he was FED. He was HUNGRY. I totally disregarded the old saying "no solid food" and put some cereal in with his formula - he slurped it up and slept for 9 straight hours! So did I.
We fell into our pattern. Up in the morning, formula and cereal, dressed, on to day care, home in the evening, bath, cuddle time, cereal and formula and sleep. He slept through the night from the 3rd night on - and I mean from 10:00 p.m. until 6:00 a.m. Pretty good huh? And he got stronger. The first time he looked at me and I could see all of his iris and pupil, I cried. He smiled....ahhhh... that smile! And he started to gain weight. And he smiled. So he could hear and he could see - wonder what else the "experts" were wrong about.
We worked and worked on his neck muscles. I got a second-hand "baby back pack" and his day care worked hung it on the end of his crib at the center and for 10 minutes, 3 times a day, she put him in it. In order to see what was going on, he HAD to hold his head up.....and he did....he was mad, mad, mad, and would scream bloody murder, but that head would be up - he would be red in the face and screaming, but that head would be UP! It took several weeks for him to have the head control he should have, but he did it. He was a fighter.
He never did crawl the "normal" way. He crawled like an inch worm - hitching himself forward on his arms, scooching his butt up in the air and pushing forward with his knees. The "experts" were worried about this....I wasn't - he was crawling. The "experts" said if he walked before he was 2 it would be a miracle - Ryan walked at 23 months. Chalk up another miracle (how many is that now?). He talked - Mama, kitty, doggie, cup, cracker, bobble (bottle), more, and finally the dreaded "NO!" He hit his "terrible 2's" at eighteen months and it lasted well into his 3rd year. He turned into a beautiful little boy (yes, I'm partial) with blonde hair and huge brown eyes. He smiled most of the time. His gross motor skills were lacking and his fine motor skills were not great, he walked and talked, but hey - nobody's perfect - right? Right!
He was my life - my joy - my son. I wanted the world for him. He had four times as many clothes as I did and every educational toy I could squeeze out of my paycheck. Times were tough for awhile - I had a lot of expenses after leaving the farm, but we made it - he never realized any tough times. He had everything he needed and then some.
I really feel that I enjoyed a normal child until he started school. That's when his problems became so glaringly apparent. Other kindergardeners could hold a thick pencil, cut with scissors, ride a trike - Ryan couldn't do any of those things. Others could color "in the lines" - Ryan's colors were spread all over the page. His teachers were all great - all through school. He learned to hold that pencil - he learned to cut, but the trike he never mastered - you see he did not have "reciprocal motion" - the ability to move first one leg and then the other - that's why he crawled like he did. I really didn't care - he didn't either. He couldn't tie his shoes - thank God for velcro!
The elementary years were peaceful - he was in special education but "mainstreamed" into regular classrooms. I worried about high school - how would the "normal" kids treat him?
Next entry: The Teenage Years
About mid-1979, I made a monumental decision that would forever change my life. I decided to adopt a child. Having worked as an adoption case worker for the past 7 years, I knew there were hundreds of kids out there who needed forever families. There were even "catalogs" of kids needing homes with pictures and a little bit of biographical information about each child. After a lot of soul searching, I decided to apply for a school-age girl. I knew that healthy white infants were only placed with couples and although I would have loved to have a baby, I knew better.
My home study was completed (I had a home suitable for a child) and I made enough money to provide for one. My references were checked and finally my home study was approved for a "special needs child". "Special needs" is defined as any child over the age of 6, any sibling group of three or more, or any African American child, or biracial child. Now I could "flip through the catalog" and choose a child to submit my home study for. I had a rude awakening as far as trying to adopt as a single parent. It seems that most foster care workers would rather see one of "their" kids stay in a two parent foster home (where they could be removed at any time) rather than place them with a single parent "forever home". Time and time again my home study was sent out only to be returned marked "waiting for a two parent home". I wonder how many of those kids ever found their forever family? I began to loose hope. Shame on me. Each night in the shower (and I do some of my most fervernt prayers while in the shower) (some great singing too!) I would ask God to entrust a child to me - that I know I could be a good parent. I wasn't asking for a "perfect child" just a child who needed me as much as I needed that child. Then Mom died, and I sort of "forgot" about my home study. My life had changed so much.
My aunt had taken my grandmother to live with her while we were in Minnesota and now my grandmother wanted to move back home with me - have me quit my job and me take care of her. I just couldn't do it. She was my grandmother, but she was forgetful, often leaving pots on the stove until they melted and I was scared to death she would burn the farm down while I was at work. when my uncles decided that I would HAVE to take care of her if I remained in the house, I elected to leave.
In October, 1981, following a heart-breaking argument with my two uncles regarding ownership of the farm, I was faced with having to move - leave my home - sell my horses - leave everything that I held dear. I had just found a little cabin to move into when I got a call from my adoption worker, Anne. I'll never forget her words..."Jayne - I have a baby for you". How old? "Six weeks". Boy or girl? "Boy". Is he okay? "Well...he's got some problems." That was putting it mildly.
Two days later I was in Anne office to "meet" my son. She came in...and laid in my arms.....the ugliest, most pitiful little baby I had ever seen. Instead of the rush of mother love I expected to feel - all I felt was pity for him. He was scrawny, scrawny...arms and legs like toothpicks, hugh head, bulging eyes, no hair, and he was screaming.
Anne told me he had been born to a drug addicted mother. His prognosis was poor. He had already been offered to three COUPLES, but they refused him. I didn't blame them. The "specialists" said he would never sit up, crawl or walk and was severely retarded. They weren't sure he could hear or see. I ask Anne - if I don't take him - what will happen to him? "He'll be released to state custody and be placed at Greene Valley" (a residential program for severely handicapped individuals).
I held that baby and he turned toward my face and stopped crying. And I knew - he was mine. He was God's gift to me - how could I refuse to take a gift from God? I couldn't.
Next entry: The early years.
(NOTE ABOUT THE PICTURE - This was taken in 1978, after my father's death - can you see Skipper on my lap?)
Home - how do you take a person home when she is hooked to ivs and a respirator, and needs constant medical attention? I called her doctor in Tennessee and he was willing to take over her care once we arrived. Well....evidently at the Mayo Clinic lots of people travel about hooked to ivs and respirators. AIR AMBULANCE!! Hadn't ever heard of it but I thanked God once again. I called my bank at home and arranged to get a loan - $6,000 to be exact, notified our home hospital of our arrival date and time, packed up my stuff, said goodbye to Maria, thanked all the doctors and nurses in ICU, put Skipper in his crate and home we flew. Air ambulances, for the uninformed are small, propellor planes. There is room for the stretcher, and the 6 attendants who flew with us, including a respiratory therapist, a cardiovascular specialist, an RN, and three student nurses who need the experience. Didn't cost me any extra so I said COME ON! I sat next to the pilot and DID NOT TOUCH A THING ON THE INSTUMENT PANEL - keeping my arms crossed across my chest and holding my breathe ALOT. Poor little Skipper was placed in his crate at the very back of the plane. Anytime we changed altitudes he proclaimed his misery with a soft, mournful howl. The pilot said it must hurt his ears. He was our comic relief as he hearalded each change of altitude. Even Mom would smile when she heard him.
We landed in Knoxville on March 12, 1980, and were met by my cousin and my aunt. They agreed to take Skipper on home for me so that I could go on to the hospital and et Mom settled. Sje was exhausted, and so was I. That night I returned home to my cats, my outside dogs and my horses and a large empty house. I realized as soon as I walked in the door that Mom was who had made it "home". Now is was just a large, old farmhouse. I sat in the floor in front of the heater and cried for most of the night.
The next day I went to the hospital and found the nurses and doctors very sweet and caring. Mom was doing as well as could be expected. Her doctor told me he would like to try to wean her from the ventalator. He said he would try to build her up as much as he could beforehand.
My new schedule: up at 6:00 a.m.; go to the barn and feed; come back, dress for work, drive to the hospital, quick visit with Mom, on to work. Off at 5:00, drive to hospital, visit with Mom, usually eat dinner with food from the snack bar (the nurses let me visit as long as I wanted to even though she was in CCU), drive home, go to barn and feed, shower, watch some tv, go to bed; That was it.
The good thing about being home is that family and friends got to see her - got to say goodbye. I'll never forget one of her friends saying as she was leaving CCU, "I see Jesus in her eyes". I looked at Mom and she was right. Mom's eyes were large and brown and shone with quiet faith.
The doctors tried. They really did. But on March 31, her body just quit. She went into a coma, and one by one her organs shut down. When her kidneys failed she started to swell - I couldn't believe how she swelled. Her skin started to crack and her lips, eyelids, fingers and toes turned dark, dark blue. I sat and held her hand and told her what a wonderful mother she had been, what a wonderful person she was and how much I was going to miss her. I asked to doctors if we could turn off the ventilator. That was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I sat with her until her newly repaired heart finally stopped. I remember how quiet it was - no machines. I asked for an autopsy. I wanted to know what happened. So did her doctor.
I buried her next to the man she had loved for most of her life. At her funeral I remember the minister saying "Oh how happy Bill must be today - to be reunited with his beloved LouElla". I still miss her so much. There are so many things I wish I could tell her. I think she hears me whan I talk to her. I hope she does.
The autopsy revealed that Mom's lungs were heavily damaged from the cigarettes she had smoked prior to becoming pregnant with me - 33 years earlier. She had not smoked for 33 years and they still were the cause of her death.
So both my parents succumbed to the effects of cigarettes. Do I smoke? No.
Next entry: My son
February 4, 1980 - we flew, the three of us, to Rochester, Minnesota. It was COLD, COLD, COLD. Snow everywhere. In fact, it snowed every day we were there. We went first to my motel to check in and leave a bewildered Skipper. Then on to St. Mary's Hospital where Mom was admitted and "tagged" for surgery. The hospital was HUGE, and Catholic, a great deal of comfort to me. There was a chapel where Mass was said twice a day, and a convent with about 25 nuns, mostly nurses, but some retired also. I got to know them all, and they me (and Skipper).
My motel had a shuttle that went to the clinics and hospitals four times a day. I usually took the early shuttle there and the late shuttle back to the motel, staying with Mom all day, and Skip at night. He was so good, never messed in the room, waited patiently for my return each night and I thanked God each night for him as I cuddled him close in bed and sobbed into his fur. I was so alone. I was so scared.
February 8, 1980 - Mom's surgery started at 7:00 a.m. and lasted for fourteen hours. I waited in the surgery waiting room, which by the way was HUGH. It had about 20 sofas, as many chairs, and about 20 tables. On each table was a jigsaw puzzle that people worked while they waiting for "visiting times". I worked every single puzzle in that room. I saw a lot of people come and go. They got to leave - I got to stay.
Mom had a quintuple by-pass and all 3 valves replaced in her heart. They had a hard time stopping the bleeding and she did not do well. She remained in intensive care throughout the remainder of her stay there. Since I could only see her for 15 minutes five times a day, I decided to look for a place closer to the hospital. I found the perfect place (and yes, they accepted pets) right across the street at "Maria's Apartments". Maria was a hoot! A tiny, but spry hispanic lady, she also had a little dog she called "Chico" and knew how much comfort a little dog could bring. She also had a small grocery store and now I could fix my own meals and go back to the apartment to wait for my time with Mom. I could watch tv or take Skip for walks, or nap. It was not even as expensive as the motel and if I needed to get to the hospital in a hurry, I could. I paid Maria by the week.
And that week turned into the next week and the next week and the next week. Mom did not improved. Her heart was worked fine - you could even hear the valves clicking through her chest, but she could not get off the respirator. The doctor's were baffled. She ended up with a trach tube to make her more comfortable.
I spent hours in the chapel begging God to let her get better. He didn't seem to hear me or if He did He wasn't doing anything to help her. And then, on a quiet Monday in late February, in the chapel, at 10:00 p.m. I finally "shut up" enough to hear Him. "Not YOUR will my child, but MINE". A great peace came over me - and I think at that point - I knew - I was going to loose her. I talked to the doctors. They thought we should stay there for the duration. I wanted to go home. Most importantly, Mom wanted to go home. She made that very clear to me. I hadn't heard her voice since the surgery, but she mouthed to me very plainly - "TAKE ME HOME". I think she knew and she needed time to say goodbye to family and friends.
NEXT ENTRY: The trip home
In 1963 my father got a job managing a country club in a nearby town. They bought a three bedroom brick rancher on a large lot in a new subdivision for $15,000. Hard to believe huh?
My Mom was soooo happy to move back into her "own" home. Living with my grandparents had been a trial for her, but she never complained. We moved, I changed schools (again) and our lives seemed to go great. In 1966 I graduated from high school, and my mother's father, Papaw, died in his sleep, died of heart failure after having been stung over 200 times by yellow jackets the previous day.
The family gathered together. My uncle was the first to arrive at the farm and the little black book that my grandfather had written in telling his children who got what when he and my grandmother died - disappeared.....hmmmm. Now that my grandfather was gone, the questions arose - what do we do with Granny? She was adament that she wanted to remain in her own home. No one wanted to come live with her.
I went off to college, ETSU, and life continued. Then, in early 1967, my father once again "fell", losing his job, and thus our home. Now it seemed fate had ordered us to return to Townsend - back to the farm - back to living with my grandmother. I know that it nearly killed my mother to have to give up her home and move back in with her own mother. She never complained. It was hard on her - stuck back up in the mountains - she didn't drive and was dependent on my father or me and sometimes her sister to take her to the store, to church, or shopping. She never asked for much. I could have done so much more for her as I look back now. I wish I had. She knew I loved her, but I could have done so much more to make her life a little more comfortable. I wish I had ...I really wish I had.
I don't know where we would have moved to had we not returned to the farm. Perhaps it was fate - it opened up a whole new world for me - for at last, the answer to a dream I had carried in my heart ever since I could remember came true.....I got a horse! A beautiful 3 year old Anglo Arabian mare - Roc-a-neuf...."Roc" for short. But that is another story and another person that made an influence on my life.
After my father's death in 1976, my mother and I continued to live on the farm with my grandmother. My mother's health had been steadily declining for the past 7 years. Her doctor told her she needed additional heart surgery, but was unwilling to do the surgery himself - too risky - she was a bad surgical risk.
Then, in 1980, the decision was made - surgery or certain death. Her doctor suggested we go to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. There she stood the best chance of survival. Plans were made, money was borrowed, and we prepared for the trip.....my mother, me.....and Skipper, our black toy poodle. It was decided that he would accompany us so that I would not be totally alone at night, in a strange city, a strange hotel, during a difficult time.
Next entry: The Mayo Clinic
My Mother - my friend, how I miss her. She was my rock, my steady place, my Mom.
She was born to two "country" people in a little town called Townsend, Tennessee. She was one of four children. Her parents, George and Jane, were simple country farmers. They lived in a house that George built, no electricity, no indoor plumbing. Neither of her parents were demonstrative. No hugs, no kisses, but they did what they could for their children.
When my mother was 8 years old, she woke up one morning with pains in her arms and legs. "Growing pains" - that's what her father said. Her mother agreed, and sent her on to the fields to work. She became frail and sickly. She couldn't run anymore and when she worked too hard, her lips and fingernails would turn a deep blue. When she left home and went to Knoxville business college, her teachers were concerned. She went to the doctor and was told that her heart was been damaged by untreated rheumatic fever. The "growing pains" would leave her forever a semi-invalid.
Getting pregnant with me was a miracle in itself. Carrying me to term and delivering a healthy 7 pound baby was her "gift from God" as she called me. There would be no more babies for her, but she always told me I "was enough for her".
She underwent her first open heart surgery in 1958 on Galveston Island. My father was told it was likely that she would not survive the surgery. He "fell" that day (see previous post about his problem) and contacted the funeral home, chose the casket, picked out the burial plot on the mainland, and contacted a minister! My mother was furious when she found out and chided him for having so little faith. She cancelled everything. She knew she was going to make it....and she did. I was sent to Tennessee to stay with my grandparents while she went through some rehab. When I returned home it was to a "different Mom". She had more energy, she had pink cheeks!!!! She looked and felt great. She took this as a new lease on life and she was determined to live her life to the fullest.
We moved to Tennessee in 1960, aftermy father lost another job due to the alcoholism. We moved in with my grandparents, and later I came to understand just how hard that was for my mother to "come home" again.
We lived there for three years, added electricity and indoor plumbing, put a new roof on the house and got a coal burning heater for the living room.
More on this later - I've got a meeting to go to tonight.
(NOTE ABOUT THE PICTURE: This is a photo of an oil painting done of my father in 1959 while we were living in Galveston, Texas)
I had two of the most wonderful parents God ever blessed a child with. I'll start with my father. He was German, came to the US when he was 19 years old. He was maried before he married my mother and he had two children with his first wife, Belle. My half-sister, Yvonne, died 5 years ago of a cerebral hemmoraghe. I don't feel as though I ever got to know her well enough. My half-brother, Leon, and I have developed a wonderful brother-sister relationship even though I didn't meet him until I was in college and didnt' really get to "know" him until 1988. He and his lovely wife, Jewel, have dinner with us at least once a month and we keep in touch by phone weekly. I love him dearly. He is now 69 years old.
My father met my mother in Knoxville. They married in 1945 and in 1948 they were "blessed" with me. Because of a heart condition, I was the only child my mother was able to have. I was my father's "little princess" and he spoiled my outrageously. I was definately a "daddy's girl". He would give me anything I wanted unless my mother was able to keep him in reason. Although frail and a semi-invalid all her life, she was the "rock" of the marriage. She is what kept our family together.
My father was a warm, caring, generous (to a fault) individual. He was also an alcoholic. His love of the drink caused my mother many a sleepless night. They fought a lot and loudly. He would always apologize. She always accepted it. And then he would "fall" again. I never for minute doubted my parents' love for me. I knew my father had a problem, but I also knew it had nothing to do with me. In fact, when he would "fall", he sometimes orchastrated some of the most fun times he and I had together. Once, when we were living on Galveston Island in Texas, he pulled me out of my 5th grade class and took me deep sea fishing with him. Of course it would have been nice for him to let my mom know about it. Another time he took me "crabbing" on the beach.
He was a world-class CHEF - not a cook mind you...but a CHEF. He could cook anything and cook it well. He was litterally "known world-wide". We moved alotbecause of his work. AND we lived in whatever hotel he was working in - a godsend for Mom since we had maid service and she didn't have to worry about cooking.
To me he was "Pops", "Daddy", and "Papa". He died on July 7, 1976, a victim of the ciggarettes he loved so well. A five-pack-a-day man, the cancer was too widespread when finally detected. It devastated my mother, but she had always been the "strong one" in the family, and life went on...for her...four more years.
Next entry: My Mother
The "all about me" section only takes 1000 characters - don't know how many I had, but it was too many so I will put all that here - in the first entry, so that you wil know who the heck you are reading about.
My name is Jayne AnneMarie. I used to be just be "plain Jane Marie", but on my 50th birthday I decided to change the spelling to the above. It was a "50th Birthday" thing to do. I told the Judge when I turned 100, I just might change it back. He was amused. I live in Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
I have one son, Ryan, age 23, whom I adopted as a single parent when he was six weeks old. He is a story in himself. I will touch more on Ryan later, but I will say here that he has been and continues to be the joy of my life. He has touched many lives and he is truly a gift from God.
Speaking of God, I am Catholic and have a strong belief in God. If that turns you off or offends you in any way, you might as well stop reading now and remove my journal from your bookmark, or your favorite places list, because you will hear a lot about God in this Journal and the marvelous part that He plays in my life.
In 1986, I purchased a small two bedroom home, and now that home needs repairs. So.... I am a paralegal Monday through Friday, I work for Dolly Parton at Dollywood on Saturdays and Sundays, and every Friday night I become my alter ego, a professional actress, doing mystery dinner theatre (all comedies). I share that home with Ryan, two dogs, a Yorkshire Terrier, Abbigail, a Mutt, Millicent, and 7 loud, messy and beautiful birds No, I'm not crazy.. I do an exotic bird rescue, In other words, I take what people no longer want, and give them a home, food and love. I have a double yellow head Amazon parrot, Sam (could be Samantha), a senagal parrot, Rainy, two cockatiels, Petey One and Petey Two (tha'ts right - two birds from two different people, both named Petey), two parakeets, Blueberry and Dingleberry, and the world's meanest lovebird, who came with the enchanting name of Julliette, whom we now refer to as "Mean Julie" (she bites).
So....this is who I am. I'll add to this as time permits. I don't have a lot of "spare" time, but I think I need to make time for this - I think it will be therapeutic for me.
Next entry: the important peple in my life.
