Ebony Matzke 1/31/2004 to 10/16/2012

Our Baby Ebony

We will miss her cocking her head when we talked to her

Here is the breakdown on Ebony. We took her to see Dr.Tebbe last Wednesday, they did blood-work and an x-ray which showed something in her belly, plus blood. When diagnosing a pet they always start with the simplest diagnosis to treat (since to find the actual diagnosis would have required and MRI and Ultrasound...Which we could not afford.) So she got fluids and was being hand fed. He put an IV in and we monitored the drip over night at home.

My request of Ebony was that she please not die before Sarah's testing, and she didn't. She rallied while Sarah was here, still having to be hand fed, but she was drinking water, having bowel movements and sticking to Sarah like glue. She loved Sarah so much, they really had a very special bond. Then as soon as Sarah left here Sunday, Ebony jumped up on the couch and slept the rest of the day. Only getting p to go outside and drink water, then back on the couch she went. She wouldn't eat from the spoon as she had so I had to put the food in her cheek. She only ate a little bit.

Love you Baby Girl

Yesterday morning she was very listless and I fed her like one would a baby, and felt like some of my hospice patients families who try all they can to get food into their loved one. I held her all morning, and she had an episode which was like a seizure of some sorts. She held her head back, body stiffened and she made a howling sound. It was just like when Foxy died, so I thought she was leaving then, but she didn't. 

Inky is saying good-bye

I called and could get into see the Vet at 4pm yesterday afternoon.  I had to carry her everywhere by this point, and she was extremely dehydrated again. Inky spent about an hour laying beside Ebony and licking her...she only knows Ebony as "Mommy".

 Dr. Fernandez was there and he looked again at her x-rays and blood work. He felt her belly, which seemed to be growing day by day. He said that he believed that she had cancer of some form, maybe liver, since she was so anemic and he asked how her eating habits were for the past months. I explained how for about the past 6 months to a year she has been an extra finicky eater, we had to play all kinds of games to get her to eat, then she would refuse to eat altogether for a few days. Then she would be fine and eat OK. He explained that animals who have cancer act that way. They eat when they are having a good day, don't when they aren't....he even said "Just like people on hospice have good days and bad days, this is what you have been seeing with Ebony." 

An evening spent loving Ebony

So She got more fluids and a shot for pain. I brought her home and Marty got off work to come home. We gave her pain meds and she was very lethargic. She would take some water with a dropper, and during the night she actually drank water from a small bowl we had at bedside. We spent all our time with her, waking in the night to let her drink, and Marty took her outside to pee.

Last sleeping time with our beautiful Ebony

We made an appointment for 10:30 for her to be euthanized. The hard part was that because of the fluids she had rallied and was acting like her old self, except that she would not eat, even er favorite cheese or yogurt. She gave us kisses and was very present with us. It was such a very hard decision to make, but we took her to her appointment, and Dr. Tebbe was there, with his wonderful wife and Vet tech. He explained to us the whole procedure of how they start with the simplest thing they can think to treat, and if that doesn't work, then they go to step two,  then step three, and so on. He said that she had indeed rallied with the liquids on board, but it was temporary. He went back to look again at the x-rays and did a physical exam of her abdomen and rib cage. I even had noticed that her girth in her rib cage area had been growing in the past days, which meant that the tumor was growing. He suspected that it was more than likely pancreatic cancer, which can present with all the symptoms she had. Her belly was very hard and even the area behind her skull was depressed and showed classic signs of being even more dehydrated.

After talking with them, we made the decision to euthanize her, so she would not be in any more pain, and even though we were wondering why she rallied on the day we were to say good-bye, I truly believe it as her way of telling us good-bye. She gave us one last glimpse of the absolutely beautiful dog she was, she gave us good bye kisses and as we both held her she took her last breath.

We are grateful for High Country Pet Clinic, their staff  are so caring and supportive. Thank you To all of you who walked this journey with us. http://highcountrypetclinic.com/

We are filled with a great sadness, as anyone is when they loose a loved one "too quickly". But I am thankful that she left here allowing us to have in our mind's eye the image of her alive, barking at the doorbell, looking for birds....instead of our last thought of her as being lifeless and sick.

She gave me kisses just this morning

"None to nose, Ebony do you know how much your Momma loves you? Forever and always...kisses and hugs. I have told this to her since she was just a little puppy, and every time she would lick my nose."

  

 Miss Ebony Debebony, we will always miss you






 Here are some photos of when we first adopted her on March 20, 2004

My baby girl

She always loved being carried by her Daddy!

Charlie and Rev. Charli

Charles Carpenter Sophomore at Reagan High School 1969

Last week I found out that my very best-est of friends when I was a little girl died. I don't know how he died, or even when he died, but he is gone. The only photos I could find of Charles were from Reagan High School yearbooks, and in my 7th grade Pearce Jr High yearbook.  Yet in my fondest memories I can see him with a huge smile on his face as we played together from pre-school years through grade school..His name is Charles Carpenter. He lived on Pollyanna, just a skip through the field from my house to his back yard. When we both got new bikes we started a tradition of starting at his driveway, because it was sloped, and racing as fast as we could into my driveway. Many of our neighborhood friends got in on the race, which happened at least once a week.

Charles went by the name of "Charlie", and I went by "Charlotte." Charlie began to call me Charli one day, and I said we could not have two Charlie's in the neighborhood, so I would call him Charles. From that time on Charlie was "Charles" (only to me) and I was 'Charli'. He was the only person I have ever let call me "Charli". 

He was the only boy who would play house with me. He was the only real person who I ever preached for. When I was really young I wanted to be a Preacher (growing up Church of Christ we called our Minister "the Preacher", and that is what I wanted to be. When my Mother informed me that I could not be a preacher because I was a girl I changed careers to 'Being a Mom.' That fact didn't stop me though from preaching to my dolls and stuffed animals, usually on Sunday afternoons. I would teach lessons for Sunday School, and then preach from whatever the sermon was on that day. Some days, especially during the summer when we had VBS, I would come home and Charles would come over and I would teach him lessons from VBS. 

He told me that someday girls would be able to preach, and I would make a fine preacher. I loved him even more for thinking that a mere girl could grow up and preach.He also would refer to me on those 'Preaching Days" as Reverend Charli. I have no idea where he heard the word Reverend before, but we would just laugh until our stomachs hurt thinking about me being called Rev. Charli.

I had forgotten all about those days until I heard that Charles was dead. 

Our Play World

Then the stream of memories began to flow and I remembered making mud pies, playing in my sandbox, building a fort in the grove of cedar trees in the vacant lot next to my house and in back of his. He taught me that the little red berries that grew wild in the "Kingdom of Lot" (I know it's pretty corny, but that's what we called it) we edible, and many a day we would add those berries to our sack lunches that my Mom made for us while we were exploring down at Walnut Creek. 

I have such very fond memories of Charles. He was the older brother I never had. One time he found out that another neighborhood boy, the "bully' of our neighborhood, was picking on me. Charles had a long talk with him and that boy never once more bothered me. He also kept a kind watch over me at Pearce Jr. High my 7th grade year (1966-67). I loved watching him play football, he was so very good at it.

The years went on and Charles, being one grade ahead of me he went to Pearce Junior High in 1965 and I followed to Pearce in 1966. He went on to Reagan High school and I found him in the yearbooks for his Freshman year 1968, when he was with the Football B-Team. And also in the 1969 Yearbook, but nothing in 1970 or 1971. 

I don't know if he dropped out of school or what, because Lanier High was built and those of us who did not have older siblings in Reagan had to go to Lanier...so I lost an every day contact with him after that. On occasion we ran into each other, and we would catch up on what was happening in our lives, but once I moved from home, I lost touch with him altogether.

So last week. when I found out that my 'Charles' was gone, and I remembered that he thought that someday I would make a good Rev. Charli. I thought about how when I was first ordained Marty and Sarah called me 'The Reverend Mother', and some even started to call me Rev. Charlotte, yet it just didn't sound right. I could not be called Rev. Charli because in my world Charles was the only one who could call me Charli. Now that he is in heaven I received the nicest of 'pushes' into claiming the name he gave me so many years ago. Rev. Charli has been born. I hope that I live up to his high expectations of me.

Charles Carpenter.....My Charlie......thank you for so many fantastic hours of fun, of joy, of preaching, of teaching...that you shared with me. 

July 14, 1975 My Oldest Daughter is Born

Thirty seven years ago today, I was a pregnant 20 year old with a 3 year old son. When I look at that statement now, it seems so surreal that I was just a girl, although at the time I thought of myself as a woman....I really was so young, so naive, living in a world of fear and extremely low self esteem.

My husband and I were living on Grover Street in Austin. He was in the police academy for Austin PD, and wasn't sure he really wanted another child, as his own childhood had not be idyllic. But in October of 1974 we had a long talk and I explained to him my concerns about Shan growing up an only child, and I didn't want that...since I had been an only child I wanted Shan to have siblings. It is funny now when I think back to that conversation which occurred in our driveway on a beautiful fall evening. He gave me a month to get pregnant, or we would not have another child. I was on a mission from that moment on...to get pregnant.

Since this was the age where we women learned so much about our bodies, how we worked from the inside out...I went to the library for help. And to my 'natural hippie friends' to find out ways of becoming pregnant. (I laugh now, because I should have known that as fertile as I was I would have no trouble getting pregnant really quickly...I had become pregnant with my oldest when I was on the birth control pill) Anyway, with books and my friends advice, I set out on a month of 'I am going to get pregnant!  And I did, whether all the helpful advice really did contribute (such as doing the yoga position headstands immediately after sex) I will never know..all I know is that I got pregnant, and was ecstatically happy.

We gave our parents cards at Christmas announcing that we were expecting, and everyone, including my husband was happy. I loved being pregnant. I didn't have any morning sickness, I felt great and I just really enjoyed being 'with child'. I got books from the library about the developing fetus, and Shan and I would look at them, and he would ask questions and I would find the answers. Again, you need to realize that this was just really the dawning of women actually having access to information about our bodies and the first photos of embryos and fetuses had come out in Life magazine, and then other books were written. It was the age of discovering just who we were as women.

I remember my Mom came over to the house one day, and Shan ran to get the book with the pictures of fetuses, and he said, "Granny, look, this is what the baby looks like inside Mommy's tummy." I thought my Mom was going to faint right there and then. She asked me why in the world was I exposing Shan to such things that were personal and private. She was from a totally different generation where women did not talk about such things, much less show them to their children. 

Anyway, the months went by, and I did the same as I had when I was pregnant with Shan. I sang songs and talked to 'her' all the time. I played music and put the earphones on my belly so she could hear the music. I knew from the first moment that she was a girl, Don't know how, but I just knew. My husband and I picked out names, and only girl names. They had to have the initials KMB, because that was a tradition that my husband wanted carried down. He had the same initials as his own Dad and his grandfather. So we chose Kimberly Michelle Bates. 

I refinished my old crib from when I was a baby, I made curtains, and a bedspread, and we got some really beautiful shag carpeting for the baby's room. Everything matched and was very 'in style' for 1975. She had a Winnie the Pooh theme and I painted quite a few characters from the stories on wood (which was 'in' ). I made a bassinet skirt to match the curtains and all was ready for her entrance into the world.

this was a good car-seat back then! OMG

When I was eight months pregnant, my best friend Mary Jensen (now Hey) held a baby shower for me at her home in South Austin. It was so much fun. I have such fond memories of those days, we were back to nature girls...everything had to be homemade, from bread to baby food!

Mary's friend had made the cake, and it was from seeing it that my desire to become a cake decorator was born.

My husband was in the Police Academy and was going to go somewhere for some firearms/scenarios training out of town. I was more and more afraid as the days grew close to the week he would be gone. It was only 2 weeks before the baby was due, and I was really scared that he would be gone when I went into labor, if I went into labor. My firstborn was born 2 weeks early and my water had broken but I did not go into labor, so they had to give me pitocin to start the contractions. 

When I awoke the morning of July 14  fixed Shan's breakfast and was just not feeling very well. I had been having braxton hicks contractions, although they were not called that back then...just named false labor. I was dilated 2 cm and no one even used the word effaced back then. My doctor said that the baby could come any time now, which added to my fear. When I went to the bathroom I checked myself. Now, this was a new concept to pregnant women in the mid 70's. I was part of the La Leche League, and all of us from our birthing classes had been shown how we could check ourselves to see if we had dilated more. So, it had become a natural response for me to check myself every day. This morning was no different, but this time I felt that there as about a 3 finger width that my cervix was at, and a bulge was coming through. I decided I was going to call the doctor and ask for an appointment. As I started to walk out of the bathroom my water broke. I cannot tell you how I felt at that moment. Frightened because I thought I had caused my water to break by my exam.

I carried that guilt with me until many, many years later when I was doing an OB clinical for my Paramedicine degree. There was a female OB doctor who had to break a woman's bag of water and she allowed me to watch the procedure. I was really stunned at the force and the instrument she used to break it.

Twenty-two years of guilt vanished that night. After talking with the doctor after the procedure, I explained what had happened with me and asked her if I had caused the break in the bag. She assured me that I had not, and that with the way I had described the bulge, it was just ready to break on it's own.

Back, to the 14th of July, 1975 .... My husband was at work, so I called the PD and explained that I was going to the hospital. MY friend Mary drove me to Seton Hospital off of 38th street in Austin. It was the newest and best hospital in Austin at the time. My doctor was just next door at the medical offices, so he was able to come over quite often to see how I was doing. I got all checked in, Mary took Shan home with her, and Ken arrived. I did not start to have contractions, just as in my first birth. So, they started the pitocin and labor began. 

I remember that there was a nurse who was the nurse from hell. She came in and did all the prep work...shaving of the pubic area, gave me an enema, all those wonderful things that were done to us back then. As she was establishing the IV line, she said to me very matter of factly, "This baby is a boy, from the way you are carrying it...it just has to be a boy." and I thought to myself..this woman is really strange. A little later she said, "This baby is not 2 weeks early, it is much too small to be only 2 weeks early. Do you know what can go wrong when a baby is born this early?" I had no idea what she was talking about, and as soon as my doctor got there he ordered a new nurse to be with me. He still stated that the baby was only 2 weeks early, and yes, that it was small,. but some babies are just smaller, and I wasn't to worry about it. We both knew my doctor really well, because my husbands mother worked in his office. We had ultimate faith in his calculations and just put aside the nurses scary comments.

Labor commenced and my husband was very supportive, but he had decided early on that he did not want to be in the delivery room. That was no place for men, he said....until 10:00 pm came around and I was fully mediated and the baby's head was coming through....He decided then that he would go into the delivery room., He had to go wash and gown up, as they wheeled me into the delivery room and got me settled into the stirrups. I thought for sure that my sweet 'girl' baby was going to make her appearance before my husband got there, so I tried as much as I could to not push, to hold her in until he got there. As soon as he arrived and I saw his masked face, I just pushed. In 3 pushes she was out. Kimberly Michelle was born at 10:14 pm, 5 pounds 11 ounces.

She was so beautiful and we both just were amazed and filled with awe and wonder at this beautiful baby GIRL we had created. We both got to hold her and then they took her to the nursery to clean her up. Ken went home and I went to my new 'after birth' room. I had a room mate, and every few hours the nurse would bring her baby to her, for feeding time. But they didn't bring Kimberly to me. I would ask why she wasn't coming, and the nurse just said she was doing fine and that my doctor would come in the morning and that I could see her then. I was totally confused, so I called Ken, and I called my doctor's service, so about 4 in the morning the pediatrician came into the room and explained to me that Kimberly was in an incubator, that she was having a little trouble breathing so they were giving her oxygen. 

When Ken arrived around 8 in the morning, the doctor came back in and explained to us that our baby had hyaline membrane disease. We had no idea what it was. He just said that her lungs were not developed enough, but she was doing great. We got to go to the nursery, scrub up and go in and hold her. It was such a joy to finally get to hold her. I was able to stay in the hospital for 7 days (insurance wasn't so strict back then), and then she was in the hospital for another week, because she developed jaundice. But at the end of that week she came home.

 I remember that for the first couple of months I put her in her bassinet at night and had it right next to the bed. Every little whimper, or if I didn't hear her move, I would lean over to make sure she was all right. I held myself responsible for her early birth, and carried a huge amount of guilt for those 22 years, thinking that she could have died and it would have been my fault. Thank goodness that time have changed where the information internet highway has brought with it the ability to check things out and we can learn the truths of situations instead of living in hidden fear .

I kept very good records of how much she ate, her growth, her weight. I wanted everything for her to be just perfect, and by the time she was about 3 months old, you couldn't even tell she had been born early. She had such rolls on her, she was a chubby kissable baby girl. She was so tiny that she couldn't nurse properly, so I pumped my breasts and with the help of the La Leche League, I was able to nurse her as she got older.

And so began Kimberly's life.....and with it a continuation of my deepest hearts desire...to be a MOM. I loved being a Mom. When everyone else was busy with establishing their careers, I was just so happy being at home with my children, going on play dates, taking them to parks, museums, swimming lessons, etc.

I watch her today.....37 years later, the mother of 4 beautiful children of her own, and I marvel that I was given the gift of having her as a daughter. The life lessons she has taught me along the way (some pretty rocky years) are so valuable, and I am so very proud of her. Thank you God, for the gift of my precious daughter Kimberly.

Kimberly and Logan, born January 12, 2012

An Open letter to Harry

Dearest Harry,

You probably wouldn't have remembered me if you had of made it to the 40 year reunion of our high school graduation, but I  had hoped to see you there and thank you for something you did for me in the Spring of 1971. I even had the good intentions of asking some people if they knew what you had been doing in these past 40 years, yet time slipped by with everyone greeting each other and the flood of memories filled the evening, not leaving room in my mind for seeking you out. Then the reunion was over and I was back home, here in Arizona.

Today I received an email from Diane Beall  that you passed from this life to your eternal one last night.

I have spent today thinking about you and the things I remember about a young teenage guy with a beautiful smile and a heart filled with compassion as he walked the halls of Viking Country.

The reason I remember you so vividly is that one fine spring day you came to the office to see Mr. Shiflet (the Dean of Boys). I was Mr. Shiflet's aide for that hour and asked you to wait for him to get out of Mrs. Brougher's office (the Dean of Girls). It was not very long before we both heard the very loud voices of both Deans and my name was mentioned. The heated discussion, which we could hear very easily was about Mrs. Brougher wanting to kick me out of school right then and there, as she had found out that I was pregnant. She was not nice in her choice of words as she described me and what she thought I deserved for getting pregnant.Mr. Shiflet was telling her in no uncertain terms that she was to keep her words and thoughts to herself, that I was not showing yet, and he was standing in my corner, allowing me to finish out my junior year.

I had never heard Mr. Shiflet raise his voice before, and I must have had a frightened look on my face because you said to me, "Don't let her get to you, ever. That's what she wants, for you to feel ashamed and leave school like a whipped puppy. Seems like you have someone pretty important in your corner, so girl, hold your head up high and don't let anyone tell you that are less than good enough." I think I was pretty much speechless, because I do not remember saying anything back to you. I just remember that Mr. Shiflet opened the door, saw you sitting there and said, "Hi Harry, come on in." The both of you went into his office then and as I hurried to get myself out of Mrs. Brougher's line of sight, she did see me and gave me one of her really scary scowls.

As the weeks went on, every time you and I would pass in the hallways, I would smile at you, and  you back at me, as if we had an unspoken form of communication which gave me so much peace. Those moments in time when our eyes would meet, it was as if you gave me some of your own strength to make it through the day. When I think of those moments now, it was as if God had placed you there at the perfect moment in time, so that you could be my 'angel' of peace in a world where unplanned pregnancies were not acceptable, and being pregnant was anything but peaceful. You showed me that God loved me no matter what.

So, from my heart to yours Harry...thank you for being that compassionate young man 41 years ago. Thank you for encouraging me to hold my head high, to not feel shame, and to know that everything would work out all right.

I believe with all my heart that in the last 41 years you continued to be an angel to many people who needed encouraging words or a smile or a hug to help them on their journey through life. Now, you are standing on the other side of the veil...basking in the glory of Heaven.

 Peace eternal Harry, you will be missed here.

Harry, Diane and Rosie at the 30 year reunion 2002

Being a Minister of Peace

It has been 7 years since I became an ordained minister. June of 2005 I walked around the perimeter of the Emissary Wheel, tracing a path that women and men have  taken for centuries...following  the ways of St. Francis of Assisi, the first Peace Minister who was Peace, wherever he went.

I remember with each step, as I got closer to the center of the wheel, where I would be anointed and ordained, I clarified in my mind what my hearts true intentions were in becoming a Minister of Peace. Having chosen a non traditional seminary, studying for two years and watching the shift in my spirit as God revealed more and more truth, I came to the core belief of who I am, and why I chose to be here at this time. Just as James was anointing me with the frankincense and spikenard, representing the divine feminine and divine masculine, my thoughts were these:



The Emissary Wheel with Attributes

Lord, Make me an instrument of your Peace, let me be whatever and whoever I need to be at any given moment in order to be who you created  me to be. Let me give to those in need exactly what they need. Bring into my spirit all the facets of the Emissary Wheel: Courage, Patience, Wisdom, Certainty, Compassion, Joy, Clarity, Understanding, Depth, Abundance, Generosity, and Agape. Allow that I might be a living prayer of St. Francis.

For the next three years I was honored to serve as Spiritual Counselor for a local hospice. I believed at the time that I would be doing this work until I retired. I loved the work. I loved being with people when they are preparing for their own death. I loved sitting vigil with their families, and sometimes just alone with someone who had no one to be with when they took their last breath.

But God had other plans for me, plans that were to take me from death to life....in a very real sense. I experienced my stoke of insight* the summer of 2008, and left my hospice work behind at the end of the year. For the next two years I spent a lot of time just 'being', not 'doing' much of anything but allowing my body and mind to heal. As I recovered I discovered that it was the very perfect time to begin my Reiki training. As I went through the three workshops to become a Reiki Master, my energy improved and I stepped into a new realm of ministry, healing touch.

In 2010 we began going to a local church, an act that I thought I would never see again. I didn't want to be in any organized religion which puts God in a box. Yet, once again, God moved and directed us to this beautiful family of believers. We walked through the doors of the church and for both my husband and myself, it felt like we were 'home.' I began to volunteer quite a bit, working with the computers, doing things in the office and was very content. Last year they needed a part time office assistant to work one or two days a week to give the office manager some well needed time off. Around the same time I birthed and still oversee the Healing Prayer Ministry. We now have lines which form on Sundays, of people who need prayer. I also taught two book studies, which I absolutely love. I will start a new one in July...all about giving us women permission to slow down!

I have been in the office now every Wednesday for over a year. My title is Office Assistant. No where in the job description are there words of any kind about needing to be an ordained minister. Yet, every week someone will come in to the office who needs a little bit of peace in their lives. And that is what I am...a Minister of Peace. That I can say a word, or give a hug, or be asked to counsel someone ... in all these things and more...I am, at my core...a True Minister of Peace.

Today a young man called the church office. He asked to speak to the Pastor. I explained that he was on vacation at which point the man said, "How can this be? I have called five churches now and each pastor is on vacation. I really need to talk with someone." So, I told him that I was a minister, and asked if there was something I could help him with. He began to tell his story, his faith walk journey, and he had come to a place where he felt that his soul was in mortal danger. He explained that he was baptized as an infant in the Methodist church, but he was baptized in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. In his extensive research into scriptures, he came to the belief that in Aramaic translated into Greek, when Jesus spoke of spirit, the word meant evil. But when Jesus spoke in Aramaic about the Holy Ghost, that the word Ghost meant the third part of the Trinity.

I tried as best I could to counsel him about the word "spirit', but he was convinced that he had been baptized into something really bad in having the words Holy Spirit prayed over him. I asked him then if he was feeling that he needed to be baptized again. He said, "Yes." I said, "Come to the church at 2, I will baptize you."
He asked if I was sure that I was comfortable using the words, Holy Ghost. I said I had no problem with that at all.

So, he showed up at exactly 2 o'clock. He even brought his own water, but I explained that we had a baptismal font, so we walked through the sanctuary, all decorated with Vacation Bible School stuff, and went in back of the altar. I did the baptism using the red hymnal, changing the words every time from Spirit to Ghost. By the end of the ceremony we were both in tears. He asked if I had felt how powerful the event was, and then said, "I know you know how powerful it was". And I did. That small private baptism was one of the most powerful events to date in my ministry. I don't know why. All I know is that this precious young man needed to be baptized under the words he believed in. And I was a willing vessel for God to move through me, granting him the very thing that would bring his heart and mind and soul PEACE. I stood watching him leave, tears of gratitude rolling down my cheeks. God has answered my heart's desire....

I am a Minister of Peace. Now and for Always. No matter where I go, no matter what 'job title' I have...I shall remain a true Minister of God's Peace.

*My Stroke of Insight is the title of a book by Jill Bolte Taylor which tells her story of experiencing a stroke of Insight. Excellent book for people who have had a stroke, or for those who have loved ones who have had a stroke.

Life, I love you......All is groovy.

I had a long chat with one of my BFF's who had a stroke a year after mine. We confer with each other quite often as a check-in to see if we are going crazy or if we are just still experiencing deficits due to our strokes. We are our own support group, which is really nice in a weird sort of way. If anyone had of told us back in 2004 - 2008, when we worked at a local hospice together, that we would both have strokes a year apart, we would have laughed. But it did happen that way, and we are grateful for the companionship of someone who understands that the things that have changed for us are not due to age, or this or that....it is all due to the strokes we experienced.

Her mother has also had two 'mini-strokes' within the past 3 years, one happening just before mine did. She is slowly getting more and more forgetful, not just age forgetfulness, but forgetfulness that is due to the strokes. She has had a lot of tests and her diagnosis is not dementia. It is brain damage from the strokes. So, my friend asks me...Is this what we have to look forward to? I don't know. Neither does she.

People who see us being competent at our work, functioning at a very high level think that we have 'recovered' and all is well in the brain department. Yes, we both have recovered. I think we both have accepted that we are now as good as we're gonna get, yet we both face our own brains every day, and those who live with us, or our closest friends know that we have been changed forever, and we have to learn to compensate for the deficits which we live with every waking moment.

We talked also about how frustrating it is to have people tell us "Oh, I experience the same thing...it's just age." No it is not just age. No it is not the same as you, who are aging and forgetful. We have that aging process too, on top of the damage to our brains, so it makes it doubly weird to not remember things like we used to. There is more to it though, than just memory loss.

My stroke was a Left Basal Ganglia lacunar infarct of 1mm . The left basal ganglia is a group of nuclei in the brain that helps motor control of the body, emotions and learning. Great...the big emotions and learning place! My friend's stroke happened in the left base of her brain, and was considered small too...so from those tiny places that went without Oxygen we have been gifted with these:

• Getting overwhelmed in crowds. 

•  Not wanting to go anywhere but to the couch after a long day at work.

• Still having times when someone asks you something and you cannot understand what they are asking for.

• Not being able to add in your head anymore.

•  Not being able to understand something someone is trying got explain to you, and when they try again to explain it, you have that deer in the headlights look, and have to say.."I  am just not going to get this no matter how you try to explain it."

•  Not being able to have spur of the moment changes in plans happen without freaking out.

• Not being able to handle all the information which comes into our brain and having to say "WAIT". "SLOW DOWN, You are going to fast, we've got to make the morning last." [It is having one thought, and then going off on another wave to somewhere that the electrical impulses firing takes you...just like now, when I was writing Wait, slow down.... I was headed in one direction, then went into the song by Simon and Garfunkel, which is a way cool song especially when thinking of the 'good things' from the stroke. Then getting stuck on the spelling of Garfunkel, because it just doesn't look right, and even though I Google it and find that it is spelled right, I have to go back and forth from tab to tab, because by the time I have gone from the tab with the words to the song and the right spelling of Garfunkel, to the tab to write this post, I have already forgotten if that is truly the right spelling or not.]

• Being in a place that brings us back to times long ago, things which happened that we both were in therapy for, and experienced healing from. Then we get stuck on what I call the hamster's wheel. It is a place where we keep going around and round and round with a set of thoughts and we need someone to remind us that we are on the wheel again. I am so grateful for a husband and daughter who can say "What's going on? You already dealt with all of that and were at peace with it all." Then it is as if a button is pushed and I reset, and all is fine and dandy, but there is usually the aftermath of cleanup for words spoken, actions taken during the "not so merry-go-round" of being stuck on the wheel.

•  Living in hell when we are on the wheel. We say things we wouldn't ordinarily say, we look at things as being hopeless, we see ourselves going around the same mountain time and time again with no stopping point.

For me, it is a place where I have a run of migraines, day after day, I will notice afterwards that I am much more vulnerable to being overwhelmed, I say it best as "I cannot compute today." And there is the fear of ....did I have a TIA (Transient Ischemic Attack) or am I headed for another real stroke?

So, all this negative is just that negative. Me, who has always had a Pollyanna attitude, deemed so by my Aunt Nell standing outside my Dad's hospital room during his years battling pancreatic cancer. I am still not used to thinking in such negative terms so frequently. Reset, I need a reset!

When the reset comes that is when I see all the positives that have come from the stroke.

• I value life more.

• I don't take crap off of anyone anymore. No matter who they are.

• I have lots of be still time.

• I  don't have time for anyone who is going to drain me.

• I am much more connected to Spirit, and choose to be involved only in things that I am called to BE involved with.

• It is so easy to say NO.

• I dot no see anything that I have to FIX, either in myself or in others, or in situations which occur.

• I enjoy the sound of the birds more.

• It's really enjoying the song from The Wizard of Oz ... If I only had a brain!

•  It's playing charades to get people to understand what word you can't get from brain to vocal cords.

• I love to just sit and stare, "at what?" you ask  Nothing, my mind can just go blank...into a place of total encompassing peace.

• It's being able to laugh at myself and say, "That does not compute." (and laughing at the memory of watching the Robot on Lost in Space...Danger, Will Robinson, Danger.)

It does not compute

• I can forgive myself for things said and done during the wheel process.

• I am patient with myself, compassionate with myself  in this process.

• I forgive others and have compassion for them just as easily.

• I can stop the world and spend all day writing a blog posting, or more importantly write my  grandchildren individual old fashioned letters.

• I can walk out of a store if there is too much information coming into my brain, shopping can always wait til another day.

 I can sum up where I live now with the song 'The 59th Street Bridge Song"  written by Paul Simon. [See my brain did know I needed to connect with this song]    Slow Down, You Move too Fast


 Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feeling groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feeling groovy

Hello lamppost, what'cha knowing
I've come to watch your flowers growin'
Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?
Doo-it in doo doo, feeling groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feeling groovy

I got no deeds to do
No promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me
Life I love you, all is groovy

So, no matter that there are negatives to the stroke, the migraines.....my Pollyanna rises as a Phoenix from the ashes and yells at the world:

Life, I love you......All is groovy.

Hope - One Extraordinary Day

I love books. Real books. Hardcover. Softcover. Well read and worn. Brand new off the shelf. Just books. I may someday own a Kindle or another new high tech machine to read if I am on a trip, but at home...I want the real thing. Here is why:

This morning I went to put away some books I had removed from the man cave and taken into our office. As I was rearranging the books on the shelves to make room for these new ones my eyes rested upon a couple of titles, so I pulled them out. One was a book I read in 2004, 'The Dance of the Dissident Daughter' by Sue Monk Kidd. This book mirrored my own journey from Christian tradition to the Sacred Feminine. The other book was a book given to me by a woman who touched my soul just by being in her presence and who allowed me the gift of being with her on her death journey. The title is 'With Open Hands', by Henri J. M. Nouwen. I have not read this book. I have quite a few books on my shelves that have yet to be discovered by my eyes and spirit.

I open the one given to me first and begin to read. It is a book about prayer. Deep prayer. True prayer. I thumb through the pages, filled with a lot of beautiful black and white photos which make a stunning impact upon my spirit. I stopped at page 84 when my eyes saw the word 'hope' in the first line. It made me excited, because I have named this year of 2012: My Year of HOPE.

The words on the page speak of praying with hope. "Hope gives you a new freedom which lets you look at life without feeling dejected. this freedom comes through in the words...

                                   

                                    Hope means to keep living

                                    amid depression

                                    and to keep humming

                                    in the darkness.

                                    Hoping is knowing that there is love,

                                    it is trust in tomorrow

                                    it is falling asleep

                                    and waking again

                                    when the sun rises.

                                    In the midst of a gale at sea,

                                    it is to discover land.

                                    In the eyes of another

                                    It is to see that he understands you.

                                    . . . .

                                    As long as there is still hope

                                    There will also be prayer.

                                    . . . .

                                    And God will be holding you

                                    in his hands."

"Whenever we pray with hope, we put our lives in the hands of God. Fear and anxiety fade away and everything we are given and everything we are deprived of is nothing but a finger pointing out the direction of God's hidden promise which we shall taste in full."

Then there is a full page photo of two women hugging, reminding me of how much I would love to be able to hug my oldest daughter right now and tell her that nothing will separate her from my love. My eyes brim with tears, for these are words that pierce my heart, and I sing...

"My life is in You Lord

My strength is in You Lord

My hope is in You Lord

In You, it’s in You

I’ll praise You with all of my life

I’ll praise You with all of my strength

With all of my life, with all of my strength

All my hope is in You"

Written by Daniel Gardner

I needed these words today. I needed these words today. I needed that picture today. I am humbled and grateful for HOPE.

Then I picked up the other book and thumbed through it's beautiful pages, marked here and there from my reading in 2004 ... 8 years ago. Yet, as I read the portions I marked, I marvel at the words I thought were important back then ... they are just as important today.

My hands stop on page 88, in the middle of the page the words I wrote in the margin jump out. "This is where I am now 5/15/04." Almost exactly 8 years later I read these words and my soul remembers where I was then and feels where I am today.

"Initiation is a sacred disintegration. Despite it's pain, we carry the conviction (often only faintly) that even though we don't know where we'll end up, we're following a soul-path of immense richness, that we're supposed to be on this path, that it's required of us somehow. We move in a sense of rightness, of lure, of following a flute that pipes irresistible music."

"...I carry the sense of belonging on this path, but I knew nothing of the intensity I was about to enter. I only knew I had waked and was entering a place where the old concepts, and values no longer fit. The vista of the Great Transition."

"When landing in a place like this, usually the best thing to do is be still, be quiet, gather one's wits. Inside I felt queasy and alone, ... When a woman starts to disentangle herself from patriarchy, ultimately she is abandoned to her own self. She comes to an unknown place where she must let the old way of being woman die and the new way come forth. During initiation the new female potential - that rambunctious girl-child who was conceived and birthed inside during her awakening and who really had been there all along - starts to grow and develop into the woman she will be."

I did go through a deeply intense disintegration/integration beginning in 2004, when I entered Seminary. I spent those years disentangling myself from the patriarchal, male dominated world in which I had grown up in and lived in for so long.

I went through another huge shift again in 2009 when I experienced the migraines which brought on the stroke like signs, finding my way in the stillness, in the quiet, being alone with myself, getting reacquainted with all that is spirit in me...truly it was a stroke of insight as written about in Jill Bolte Taylor's book, "My Stroke of Insight, Peace is Just a Thought Away." I got very used to 'Being Still and Knowing that I AM.'

Yet, today I find myself in the middle of the most enormous shift of my life cycle. All that I knew before is passing away, old thought patterns, old habits, old defense mechanisms, they are all dissolving into ashes at my left foot. And what is coming in on my right side is a totally new way of thinking, of feeling, of responding, of BEING. It is a place where I stand, in my own feminine power, and say in no uncertain terms, "Life ain't gonna be the same baby." It is as if my energy grid, all the energy that makes up this persona of Charlotte, is being rearranged, and the spirit of who I am is standing here watching it all unfold, and all I can say physically is....WOW.

I needed these words today.....they are Creator's way of letting me know that I AM exactly where I am supposed to be.

But there is more . . . .

 

singer-songwriter and instrumentalist Adam Young



I go to type this posting, and I am trying to find the image posted at the top, I run across this image. I click on it which brings me to Adam Young's blog, his entry for May 2 is entitled "Garden Party." I read it and immediately feel a bond with this guy, who is from Owatonna, MN., the town we lived in before our 2003 move to Arizona. Plus he speaks about singer/songwriter Ricky Nelson, who I had a huge crush on when I was young. I get halfway through the blog and there is Adam Young's rendition of Rick Nelson's song, 'Garden Party'. And I get it, just like Adam did...I understand about living your life under the microscope. From his blog:' Rick’s son Gunnar wrote, “After a lifetime of pretending to be a character he wasn’t — wearing the sweater on Monday on the set of Ozzie and Harriet after being a real rock star on the weekends — he was writing and performing for his own pleasure and satisfaction.' I needed that song today. Please see his whole blog here:       

 http://owlcityblog.com/2012/05/02/garden-party/



For me the Owl City image has three Spiritual pieces to it.

1. First is the word OWL. In native terms the Owl represents wisdom...which settles into my spirit that even if I doubt it, I am walking in Wisdom. (plus, Owl is my youngest daughter's Spirit Guide)
2. Second, Here's Hope jumps out at me meaning that HERE is hope. It doesn't say, There's Hope, as if Hope is somewhere over there, somewhere I have to go for hope. No, Here is hope, right Here inside of me. I have all I need within me, because I house Spirit. Hope is here NOW. Hope resides in me.
3. Third, the words I AM. Huge strong words I AM. I AM that I AM. the I AM presence which lives in me rises up and knows that I AM right where I AM supposed to be.

By now I am really grateful, for all these connections that I have been given today, and I begin to type this post. I feel myself again singing My hope is in You, so I look up the song on YouTube and play it as I am typing. I am jazzed. Air around me is buzzing, the energy level is so high it is hard to sit still. The song stops and I clicked on the next one in line and went back to typing. What words do I here? "Lord, you have told me who I am. I am yours". http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjhxOv9YDag so I click on the YouTube tab and see that it is a song by Casting Crowns. I read the video's description and what words do I see?  

 "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" 1 Corinthians 5:17

Which brings me full circle back to all the old HAS passed away and all that is

new HAS COME NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After a lifetime of pretending to be someone else, the never stand up for yourself woman people in my life want me to be, I am living in this NOW moment being all I was meant to be. My given name, Charlotte, is from French origin and means STRONG. (In German it means Free...I like that too) My Native name, White Wolf Woman  means a woman who runs with the wolves, strong and free, nurturing and loving, the total package, strong woman standing free in the light and glory of Spirit.

I AM woman, hear me ROAR!

In Search of Our Parents




My beautiful daughter Kimberly and her daughter Elizabeth
(who is SO very much like Kimberly was when she was a little girl)

 

My last post caused some hurt to my daughter, although it was not intended to. Her responses to the posting really made me aware of a number of truths that us 'children' go through as we struggle to become adults. For me, it is easy to recognize that as children we really do not understand the complexities of the people who are our 'parents'. No matter how much we try as we are growing up, and even in adulthood, we look at our parents through the eyes of the experiences we have had with them ourselves. Those experiences color our view of who our parents are, and sometimes we can carry those views with us to our own death.



I saw this quite often when I worked with Hospice patients, and see it now in those I counsel. It is not an easy journey to really go in search of who our parents are, and what is it that makes them tick. I met quite a few 'children' of Hospice patients who would share their stories with me, stories mostly from their childhood and early adulthood, and they based their view of who their mother or father were from that point in time. Then I would hear my patients story, and in getting to know them as an individual person, it soon became apparent that the adult child did not have a clue as to who their parent really was. Many times in my role as Spiritual Counselor, it fell upon me to find a way for parent and child to reach a place to see each other as they really were. Not as child/parent, but as person/person. Sometimes it was an easy road, as both were ready to put down their fears, their guilt, their blame, and really 'see' each other.  Sometimes it was a very difficult road and much time was spent on reconciliation, explanations for actions or reactions, until peace came. Other times there was no place of peace found between child and parent.

I liken it to the movie Avatar, where the central theme was how connected everyone was and how important it was to look at someone and say..."I SEE YOU". When one person really sees another, they see a spiritual being on a human journey, just like themselves. They see that each person does the best they can, with the knowledge they have at any given time, and they allow the gift of forgiveness and love to flow bringing healing and peace to all concerned.

 

My own search for who my parents were was not an easy one. I am the type of person who has a basic need to know not just what a person does, but the why behind what they do. I really never understood my mother until I stopped looking at her through a child's eyes, and began to really 'see' her. I am so very grateful that in the last weeks of her life she was able to open the door in the wall she built to protect herself from others. She let me see the little girl in her who had been abused by her father. She let me see the pain and hurt, the anger and loneliness which was the result of her not knowing how to cope with what had happened to her as a child. Once I had that information, it was easy to really 'see' her, and to come to that place of us standing together loving, forgiving and letting everything fall by the wayside that we had both been carrying around for years.

 My dad's early life was shadowed by abuse also. His mother and father were divorced. His mother left him with her mother, Grandma Poll quite often as she made her way through her life. Daddy was beaten quite often by Grandma Poll. He also saw his dad, who was an alcoholic, beat his stepmother quite often. Daddy made a promise to himself, that he would never drink, and he would never raise his hand against his wife or children. He kept that promise.

Yet still, even though the conversations I had with my parents were revealing and healing, there remains so much about my mother's life, and my dad's life that I do not know. I believe this is so for most of us 'children.' To really know who our parents are takes stepping outside of our 'selves', it takes time and effort, it takes a willingness to ask questions, to be ready for the answers, and be ready for there to not be any answers also.

When I wrote that my oldest daughter really doesn't know who I am, it was meant as an acknowledgement that most of us are right there with her, in a place where we know some things about our parents, yet there is so much more that we can learn and there are things that we may never know.

Kimberly and I

And by the way....it is also a two way street where we 'parents' really don't know who our children are.

There is a lot about my beautiful oldest daughter that I don't know, yet one thing is for certain...we have lots of opportunities to continually be in search of who each of us are, how we have grown, how we have changed since we both lived in the same house. The things I do know about her are so very awesome, and I cherish every moment spent with her when we visit Texas.

Honest, I did Graduate ... Class of '72

This past visit to Austin was very interesting. We had a wonderful time seeing the grand children, and our newest Grandson Logan (who is absolutely the sweetest baby ever!). We were able to see all the family who lives in Austin, which was nice also.

One afternoon I was talking to my oldest daughter about coming back to Austin in June for my 40th High School Reunion. She asked me if it was going to be awkward, to which I answered 'No'. She said that she thought it might be since I never graduated high school. WOW! That blew me away. My own daughter really doesn't know much about me. Oh, she has her own memories, her own opinions of her childhood and early adulthood when we were in constant contact, yet when all is laid out on the table, she really doesn't know who I am or the story of my life. None of my children do, except for my youngest daughter, who knows me like a well read book!




My diploma

 I did graduate with the Class of '72. I walked into the coliseum in downtown Austin with my class, sat down until my name was called and walked across the stage receiving my diploma with everyone else. I still have the actual photo of me being handed my diploma.  What a great day that was. I was very proud of myself for graduating with my class. I did spend my senior year in the 'Special School for Pregnant Girls', but I went every day, and since my baby son, Shan, was born in December, I was allowed to finish out the rest of the school year at that site, where we were allowed to bring our babies, and attend class at the same time.

Getting my diploma



I moved in with my boyfriend in January of 72, when Shan was just a few weeks old. It was a difficult time to live at home with my Mother. She was extremely angry that I had gotten pregnant, something she carried with her until the day she died. Somehow she believed that Shan was my Dad's baby, and that my Dad and I were having an affair. I knew nothing of this until after she died in 1998, so from 1971 thru 1998 I spent many hours trying to 'make up for' ruining her reputation with the people at church and where she worked, and trying to find out why she could not forgive and go on with life. Unfortunately for her, forgiveness was not in her vocabulary, hence carrying this burden to the grave. I wish I had of found out before she died, so that we could have talked about it all. But we didn't, which is sad.

My memorial folder

Anyway, my dearest Kimberly, your Mom did graduate with her class, and I am looking forward to the 40th reunion.

The Proposal's

I am going to skip ahead a bit here and talk about how many times Marty proposed to me. Once was when we were out with friends, at some nightclub in Rochester. His friends from college were there, plus some of our friends from a band we knew. He proposed in front of all of them, and I said "Yes."

When we got home, he said, "You know I am not ready. "I said, "I know."

Months later, toward the end of our paramedic class, we were all out after class, and everyone kept asking him to propose. So he did, in front of them all.

When we got home, he said, "You know I am not ready. "I said, "I know."

Now here, most women would have just said #$@%@% you, and be done, but I just knew that Marty loved me, and I was not ever gonna push him,. IF things worked out fine, if they didn't fine.


In 1999 we had moved back to Owatonna, after a disastrous move to Ottuma, Iowa. And after Joe and Sarah had come to live with us full time, one evening we were getting ready to go out on a date night. I was putting on my makeup in the bathroom, and he came in to see how much longer I Was gonna be. Then he touched my shoulder, as I turned around, Marty was on his knees...with a ring in hand, he asked me to marry him. And once again I said "yes". This time was THE time. He was ready, although he didn't know all he was getting into....baggage galore! A ready made teenage/adolescent family.

When we got home he said, "I am ready." I said, "I know."