memories

Because she would want us to

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 7 Comments

I originally wrote this in 2019, the year after my aunt had passed away unexpectedly in my parents’ home December 29, 2017. She absolutely loved Christmas so while I think about her often, that’s one time of year I really think about her.

—-

My aunt Dianne was sitting in her recliner bundled up in a thick sweater over her plaid button up shirt and tshirt and a thick, fluffy blanket across her legs. A knitted shawl and hood combination was draped around her head and shoulders.

 She looked, as she might say herself, a tick about to burst.

“Lisa, is that heat on?” she asked and when I assured her it was, she shivered. “Well, good gravy, I don’t think it’s working.”

On the TV Ree Drummond was pouring half a quart of whipping cream into a bowl of potatoes and telling viewers “Now, don’t judge me, or judge me if you want, but I just think these mashed potatoes are so much better with all this whipping cream.” Then she smiled at the camera.

“I can’t believe she’s not 300 pounds,” I said.

“That is a little overboard isn’t it?” Dianne asked, rhetorically

We both laughed a little and shook our heads.

We watched The Pioneer Woman whip up the potatoes and set them aside.

“Now it’s time for my famous chicken fried steak, which cowboys just love,” Ree said and smiled at the camera again, dimples showing.

I rolled my eyes.

“How hasn’t anyone in that family had a heart attack?” I wondered out loud, the irony not lost on me since my aunt had had at least two heart attacks already. I hoped she didn’t take my comment as a personal jab at her.

“Well…..” Dianne said and shrugged a little, leaving the rest of her response to be guessed.

The Pioneer Woman drives me nuts with her fattening recipes but her chipper personality and knowing I can modify the recipes for a healthier option make looking away hard to do.

Next to me the Christmas tree was bright with lights and ornaments. Out the window Dad’s star was shining bright against the dreary winter clouds at the edge of the field and woods.

Before long, my aunt was asleep in her chair, chin into her chest. She’d been falling asleep a lot like that lately, sometimes almost in mid-sentence, and I knew her health was getting worse. So that day we enjoyed her when she was awake and tried not to think about how much longer we might have her with us.

A couple weeks before she’d been messaging me, asking me for gift suggestions for my son and daughter and I knew she was anxious to spoil them and see them smile as they opened their gifts. She was planning how to make sausage balls, a Southern tradition, without “poisoning me”, knowing I was allergic to corn and had also gone gluten free. I told her not to worry about me and simply make the treats for the rest of the family. I offered to make some as well so she wouldn’t have to do all the work.

We messaged back and forth and then I accidentally bumped the video chat button in messenger. The button is annoying and most days I hate it because I rarely want to video chat with anyone, especially via Facebook. I missed her call, but she tried to call me through the ap and her voice was recorded. It was only for 17 seconds, enough for me to hear her voice call my name, thinking I’d picked up. I didn’t discover it for a couple months, when she was already gone.

Sometimes, when I’m missing Dianne the most, I scroll back to the recording and listen to her call my name. Of course, I always cry.

When I first discovered the recording, I hit the play button without thinking. Her voice could be heard throughout our house and my son’s head lifted quickly. He looked at me in confusion and then we burst into tears.

My mom said many days Dianne could barely make it from the bathroom to her chair without needing to sit down and catch her breath, but she sat the kitchen table for hours that last Christmas and made the sausage balls, kneading the meat and flour and cheese together and rolling them to put in the oven to be cooked.

“She just seemed so delighted she could do that,” Mom remembered. She grew quiet and I saw tears in her eyes. “Well, anyhow…” her voice trailed off and I knew she was trying to stay happy and not bring the mood of the day down.

On my phone is a video of my aunt opening a gift from her grand-nephew, my son. She could barely catch her breath, but she seemed excited and hugged him and told her how much she loved the gift.

Four days later my husband’s phone rang, and I heard him from upstairs.

“No! Oh no!” I heard emotion heavy in his voice.

He came downstairs and held the phone against his chest.

“It’s your mom,” he said.

I didn’t want to take the phone, but I did.

“Dianne died,” Mom said in a voice mixed with sadness and shock.

She’d called my husband first to make sure someone was with me when I was told, just as she had when my grandmother had died 15 years before.

Though I knew it was coming my head still spun when she said it and I had to sit in the floor because my legs didn’t seem to want to hold me.

I sat in my parents living room the other day.

The chair was empty.

The Southern accent couldn’t be heard.

I couldn’t kiss her soft cheek or try to squirm away when she blew “zerberts” (messy, slobbery kisses) against my cheek.

I couldn’t feel her arms around me or hear her laugh when one of the kids said something funny.

Somehow it feels a lot less like Christmas this year with her gone.

Still, I know she would scold us for dreading gathering without her.

So, we’ve promised each other to cook the sausage balls, decorate the tree, wrap the gifts and to cook the collard greens I forgot to get her last year, even though she asked.

We will drink hot cocoa while we watch her favorite Christmas movies: “It’s A Wonderful Life” and the black and white version of “A Christmas Carol.”

We will share the funny stories and laugh as we remember her.

We will, somehow, find the joy in the midst of sadness and enjoy those who are still with us because that is exactly what she would have wanted us to do.

Remembering Blockbuster

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 11 Comments

The year was probably 1994 (I don’t know. I’m a bit old. I can’t remember.) when my brother took me to the Mecca of video rental stores – Blockbuster. It was actually amazing we had one near us since we grew up in a very tiny town in Pennsylvania. It was about half an hour from us, but not such a bad drive really. It was located in a strip mall that now has seen better days with most of the stores gone and the parking lot a pothole haven.

(Not me in the photo *wink*)

If I remember right, I wanted to find a romance and he was probably looking for an action movie or maybe a foreign film. He watched a few foreign films and made me watch them at times. They were pretty good but I wasn’t a fan of reading subtitles back then. I’m better with it now.

Back then we would never have imagined we’d one day be able to download or stream our movies right from our TV. I mean, we didn’t even have cable at our house because the cable company refused to come to us since we were “in the middle of nowhere.” We had four channels brought into our TV by an old-fashioned wire hanger-style antenna on the back porch that Dad had to shift sometimes to get a better signal.

Yes, I am that old. Okay, I’m really not, but we were that poor.

Walking into Blockbuster back then was a bit overwhelming for this sheltered country girl but I loved walking up the rows and looking at all the different movies.

I’m not definite about this but I think the first time I watched the Irish movie Into The West was from a Blockbuster rental. Did you ever see that movie? It’s about two Irish boys who travel with a horse across Ireland after their dad, who is grieving their mother, hits rock bottom and tells them they have to get rid of this horse they found. That’s a very short version of what the movie is about, of course, but it is very good.

I also think it might be where my brother rented The Princess Bride for us to watch for the first time.

The movies weren’t the only thing that was tempting at Blockbuster. They had candy, sodas, and stuffed animals. I’m sure I bought some candy but never the stuffed animals because my mom always said I had enough and my brother said I was too old for such things by then. Little did they know that even as an adult I was buying stuffed animals and still cuddle many of them to this day.

Blockbuster sold all its corporate-owned stores in 2014. It no longer grants franchises to anyone but at one time there were 50 privately-owned stores. As of today, there is only one official Blockbuster store left open in the United States and it is in Bend Oregon, and is a popular tourist attraction, selling more merchandise than video rentals.

Do you remember renting videos at Blockbuster back in the day? What movies were you looking for when you visited?

Celebrating 60 years

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 11 Comments

My dad tells the story this way:

One night in 1961 or so my dad’s roommate in the Air Force came into the room and said, “there’s someone I want you to meet…Hey, I’m going on a date but my date has a niece with her so we’re going to go on a double date.”

The niece was a year younger than the aunt, incidentally, so she was about 17.

“Hurry up,” the roommate said. “Iron your pants and let’s go.”

This was in North Carolina. Seymour Johnson Air Force Base.

So my dad headed out with them and met my mom (the 17-year-old) in the backseat of a 1948 Ford coup (not meant to be as suggestive as it sounds..)

“Pontiac engine and three deuces,” he told me when I double-checked the make and year of the car.

Mom and Dad were the best man and maid of honor when the roommate (Johnny) and the aunt (Peggy) were married. Two years later, Johnny and Peggy would have been their best man and matron of honor but Peggy was eight months pregnant and living in Mississippi at the time. My parents were married in the home of a minister someone or other knew and had a small celebration at her parents in Kinston, N.C. afterward.

Six years later my brother was born and three years later my sister was born early and passed away only two days later. I came along eight years after my brother.

(As an aside to this story, my son and daughter are also eight years apart and I had a miscarriage in between. Mine was very early.)

Two weeks ago we celebrated my parents and their 60 years of marriage.

We held a small celebration at a renovated drug store (circa early 1900s building) down the street from our house.

Friends and family came out to congratulate them on a long marriage, which is often unheard of these days.

Our local state representative came and honored them with a proclamation from the Pennsylvania House of Representatives and then she also recognized my dad for his service in the United States Air Force.

“What’s the key to a long marriage?” Rep. Tina Pickett asked my parents.

My dad said it helps to have a sweet wife. My mom said that having God in their marriage had been incredibly important and necessary and helped them through the tough times.

And there were tough times – maybe not with the marriage itself but in our family with finances and loss and times of emotional hurt that we all worked through like any family.

I never had what I would call trauma in my childhood and for that I’m thankful.

I’ve always looked at my parents’ marriage as a perfect example of what marriage should really be. There was give and take, communication, and a lot of affection – sometimes more affection than I cared to see as a teenager and young adult.

Now, don’t get me wrong, my parents were never crude in front of us but they didn’t shy away from a kiss, a hug, or a mildly suggestive comment about their romantic life.

No marriage is perfect but my parents’ marriage has been close.

There were times they snapped at each other.

Times they both may have held a grudge.

Times they were both stubborn (though Dad is more stubborn than Mom).

My mom cared for the home for most of their marriage while Dad worked 40 years for a local block and cement delivery company.

Mom was always there when I needed her but Dad was there for me and my brother, Bryan, as well when he was home from work.

Through my parents showing each other love, Bryan and I learned how to treat our spouses.  

Several years ago Dad planted a rose bush in the backyard for Mom. He gives her cards and special meaningful gifts on her birthday and their anniversary, and even for no reason at all. Now that they are older and she has a hard time getting around he cares for her by pushing her in the wheelchair or helping to make the meals.

About five years ago he helped her track her calories so she could lose over 100 pounds.

It’s been hard to watch them grow older in some ways. Watching them both struggle to do what they used to be able to do makes my heart ache. There are days I would give anything for them to not have to go through the trials and pains of growing older. I’m sure they would do the same for me and my brother.

Watching them hold hands and exchange sweet looks with each other during their anniversary party and during other times throughout the years though helps dull that ache.

I don’t know what the future holds but in the present, there is love that has grown and blossomed. That love has broken through darkness. It has spread light not only because of my parents love for each other but also because of their love for Christ.

My parents have shown what it is to be a Christian and they are a hundred times better than me at following the example of Jesus.

In the days before it was dangerous to pick up hitchhikers (or as dangerous) Dad would bring home someone he picked up off the streets to give them a warm meal and a place to sleep.

There were many trips somewhere that were delayed because he and Mom saw a car along the road and wanted to stop and make sure the person was okay. Just last week Dad and I were on our way back from his physical therapy when we saw a vehicle pulled off in a very strange and dangerous spot in the road. I felt that urge to check on the person because it was how I was raised. I said, “That’s a weird place to park.”

Dad said, “They didn’t even have their flashers on.”

We both knew I was going to find a place to turn around. When we went back the car was gone and we were late getting home but we did what Jesus would have wanted us to do  – check on another person and make sure they aren’t hurting somehow.

My parents have become friends over the years with several people who struggle with mental illness. While I often feel frustrated with these individuals, my parents see them through the eyes of Jesus. They want to help them, save them, offer them some respite from their emotional struggles.

This has left my parents open to being taken advantage of and maybe even opened them up to dangerous situations. I have asked them to stop reaching out to and befriending so many who struggle with mental illness, but their response is always, “There is that verse in the Bible  ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” (Matthew 25:40)

Not too long ago someone asked Dad, “Where do you find all these broken people you seem to know?”

Dad responded, “All you have to do is look around. They’re all around you.”

He’s right. Our world is full of broken and lost people. This is not a fact that was lost on Jesus and it also hasn’t been lost on my parents.

They’ve reached out when I turned away.

They’ve comforted when I have condemned.

They’ve given when I would have withheld

They’ve loved like Jesus loves.

They have instilled in me the potential to love as unconditionally as they do.

Through their dedication to each other, to the broken and the lost, they have shown me, my brother, my husband, their grandchildren, and countless other people the heart of Jesus.

No one is perfect and they have not been perfect throughout their lives (though they have been fairly close at times).

Whatever faults they have had, however, have been overshadowed by their love for each other, for their family, friends, the lost, the brokenhearted, the downtrodden, the bruised, the mentally disturbed, the physically frail, the outcasts, the rejected, the people the world pushes asides and shuns, and anyone else who Jesus told us to love.

God knew what he was doing when he brought these two together.

He knew that through their marriage hundreds, if not thousands, would be touched, would be changed and in many cases would be saved.

Their lives, joined together in marriage, have had a ripple effect that we have not seen the end of.

For every couple they encouraged there is a family who is thankful their family is still intact.

For every child they encouraged there is an adult who has found fulfilment in life and has gone on to have families of their own.

For every dollar they spent to support a Christian message, there are souls thirsting after God and ready to be in heaven one day.

More importantly, their marriage has created a legacy for their children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews – something to strive for and a goal to reach.

May we all be able to love our spouses like they have loved each other, but even more importantly may we all endeavor to emulate Christ the way they have for the past 60 years.

Fiction Thursday: Rekindle, A Short Story Part 1

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 2 Comments

In April I shared Quarantined, a short story based on current events. This week I had an idea for a second short story jumping off from the characters I mentioned in Quarantined. This is the first part. You can find links to my other fiction serials I’m sharing on the blog at the top of the page under “Fully Alive” and “The Farmer’s Daughter.” Links to my books for sale are also available under the link at Books for Sale at the top of the page.

Matthew Grant’s conversation with his brother Liam had made him uncomfortable.

Liam’s marriage was in shambles, but Matthew knew Liam still loved his wife Maddie and Maddie still loved Liam. If they didn’t still love each other they wouldn’t be struggling so much with the idea of divorce. It couldn’t be easy being quarantined together during a pandemic with all the issues they had with each other but Matthew was glad they were. Maybe they’d work out some of those issues and save what had been a great union at one time. As it was, their divorce proceedings had been delayed because of the pandemic. As Matthew saw it, this was a way for them to buy more time and truly be sure the divorce was what they wanted.

What made Matthew uncomfortable wasn’t only that he could hear pain mixed with longing in his brother’s voice when they had talked on the video call. It was also that he wondered, worried even, if similar marital trials might one day pull at his own marriage. Maybe it already was happening and he had been too wrapped up in himself to realize it.

Matthew and Cassie hadn’t had a lot of time alone lately. Their life had been a runaway train since the election two years ago. In Washington he faced daily drama and conflict whether he wanted to or not. Becoming the youngest head of the Intel Committee hadn’t helped slow things down any either.

Then there was this crazy never-before-seen virus that seemed to come out of nowhere a few weeks ago and now had him at home with his family, waiting to see if he developed any symptoms after being exposed to it more than a week ago. He was convinced if he had the virus he would have developed symptoms by now, but he stayed home to make sure things looked good to the press and his constituents. Making sure things “looked good and right” to others seemed to be 90 percent of his job anymore, leaving little room for him to actually accomplish the things he’d been elected to do.

All the drama in the House of Representatives left him little time to focus on Cassie or the kids and he regretted that. He regretted it even more when his brother’s march toward divorce had become a growing reality. He’d never pictured Liam and Maddie divorced. They were the perfect couple. They’d weathered some hard storms, including the miscarriages, but Matthew had been sure the challenges would bring them closer together. In fact, he thought it had but maybe he’d been too wrapped up in the campaign to pay attention.

Matthew and Liam’s parents had provided for them the perfect example of a stable, loving marriage. Married 54 years, Bert and Phyllis Grant made it clear each day how much they loved each other. Sure, they had argued, even in front of their children, but those arguments had been resolved usually before the sun had gone down and with a fair amount of ‘making up’. Matthew and Liam, and his sister Lana had been grateful the majority of that making up had gone on behind closed doors.

Standing from the couch to stretch, Matthew looked out the window at his own three children playing ball in the backyard and felt a twinge of guilt. Getting pregnant and carrying three babies to term had been easy for him and Cassie. They’d never had to face the heartbreak of not being able to get pregnant or of a miscarriage. Matthew felt like he’d take it all for granted.

He looked around his living room, well decorated with expensive furniture and commissioned paintings, and thought about how much of his life he had taken for granted, especially lately. He’d taken for granted the newer model car he drove, the highly rated bed he slept on, the full refrigerator and even fuller bank account.

He rubbed his hand along his chin and turned toward the kitchen where Cassie was making a late lunch for him and the kids. Her dark brown hair fell to her waist in a tight braid, the bottom of it grazing the top of the waist band of a pair of red workout shorts. Her favorite tshirt, featuring Johnny Cash wearing a cowboy hat, fit her medium build well, hugging all the areas it should, especially for the benefit of her husband admiring the view that he hadn’t admired for a long time. He watched her stirring the taco meat in the skillet and his gaze traveled down her legs and back up again, thinking about the first time they’d met in an English lecture at college.

“Pst.”

He’d leaned over the desk to try to get her attention but she was intently focused on the professor. He had tried again.

“Pst.”

She glared over her shoulder at him.

“Do you have an extra pen?” he whispered.

She rolled her eyes, ignored him, tapping the end of her own pen against her cheek gently as she kept her eyes focused forward.

“It’s just,” he leaned a little closer so he didn’t interrupt the other students. “I left my pen back in my dorm room and I want to make sure I’m taking notes.”

He was glad he had leaned a little closer. She smelled amazing. What was that perfume? He had no idea but it was intoxicating. Maybe it was her shampoo.  The fluorescent light from the lecture hall was reflecting off her luxurious black strands of hair and he pondered what it would feel like to reach out and touch it. But he didn’t reach out and touch it. That would be weird. Even a 19-year old college freshman like himself knew that.

A year later, though, he was touching that soft dark hair while he kissed Cassie for the first time outside her dorm after their third date. And over the years he’d sank his hands in that hair in moments of tenderness and moments of passion. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched  his wife and thought about a few of those moments, including that time in the back of his new car after he’d landed that job at the law firm outside of Boston.

He could deny it. It wasn’t only the material things of his life that he had taken for granted. He had also been taking Cassie for granted. For far too long.

Faithfully Thinking: Finding Comfort in funny memories and in God’s promises

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 16 Comments

As we cleaned out our house last week for our move, I found old journals and photo albums. I paused a couple of times to look at them, but not too often since we didn’t have a lot time before everything needed to be moved out.

 I found a journal from 2008 and the first entry was titled A Weekend of ‘No!’ ‘Stop that’ “Put That Down!” (I didn’t title journal entries very often. I must have been going through a phase.) I thought I’d share a little of the entry from this particular day for any new mothers, or mothers who remember those crazy toddler years. I think I had forgot how crazy my son was a the age of 2.

"Jonathan! Stop that! No! Put that down!"
I've said that so many times this weekend I can't even count. 
Jonathan has been into everything, torn up, everything, knocked things down, spilled things, climbed on thinks and broke things. 
He knocked the Christmas tree over twice; broke another bulb (bringing the grand total over two weeks to six, I think); tried to climb over the back of the recliner twice; tried to hammer the wall once; threw a handful of change in his mouth once; pulled toilet paper off the roll once (dragging it into the living room to wrap around his daddy's feet); grabbed two bulbs and ran under the table with them. And all of this is why he was taken up to bed rather quickly tonight.
Despite all the craziness, Jonathan has been a lot of fun.

On another day my son was pushing his boundaries:

Jonathan just had his hand on the Wii. I told him 'no, don't touch that." 
He said. "Oh." Then he touched the DVD payer. 
"That?" he asked.
"Yes, you can touch that," I said.
"That?" he asked and touched the RF converter.
"Yes, you can touch that," I said, on to him by now and watching him shoot me a smart-but grin.
"That?" he asked, looking at me and touching the Wii again.
"No," I said.
"That?" he asked, looking at me and touching the receiver for the Direct TV.
It's going to be a long night.

I also found this entry from the next year when I got a weird call from an older friend of ours:

“Lisa, I just had a premonition about you! You’re going to have a girl and you were so happy. I was there. I don’t know why I was there, but I was there and you had a girl. You had a name picked out for her already, but I can’t remember what it was.”

I did not remember this entry at all. And why that stood out for me is that I did have a girl, five years later. I had had her name picked out since I was in college, had never told this woman (that I remember) and this woman was not at the hospital with me when I had her, but she was at my house sitting with my then 8-year old until my dad got up to our house to watch him when I went to the hospital.

We know this woman but we’re not super close to her in that we don’t get together all the time or talk every day or even for months at a time, but for some reason she had asked if she wanted us to stay with our son if I went into labor when my husband wasn’t home.

Finding that last entry came at an important time for me. I’ve been feeling very alone, very lost, very anxious (of course, with all that is going on) and like the future is frighteningly uncertain, but to see that entry, to know that 11-years ago God was using our friend as a messenger to tell me that he had our future happiness on his mind — that he has us and me on his mind — was a balm to my fearful soul.

A few years that entry was made our family faced some extremely big challenges, challenges that were a few inches from destroying our entire family. God kept his promise, though, kept us together, and gave us the girl he promised us we would have, while also giving us the gift of our son (big bonus!).

Sometimes, in the moment, in the every day stresses of life, we don’t see how God has been working or is working now. We don’t always remember the promises he gave us, the hope he instilled in us at times we needed it most.

Keeping a journal to remember what promises have been kept and what promises are still to come might help us to not lose focus on what really matters, but simply looking in the Bible and seeing what promises were kept and realized for other followers of God can encourage us as well.

What promises has God made to you and kept or what promises are you still waiting on? Share in the comments to encourage others as they face dark and uncertain times in their lives.