My Imperfect Valentine Heart

Jackie was only four days old. She was a crier, and she wasn’t the playful baby sister that Gina had anticipated. Her bald little head and pale eyebrows were delightful to me but looked like an alien face to Gina. And at 6 years old, having to share mom and dad with a baby who looks like a creature from outer space is a challenge.


I was still in the same clothes I wore home from the hospital (a baby who never sleeps can do that to even a normally sane person), but when I realized it was Valentine’s Day and Gina was bringing a friend home from school in a few hours, I knew I had to do something. Neil had helped Gina write out her cards for the first-grade mailbox, but this year, we needed more. I left baby Jackie sleeping with Neil and praying no one would see me, headed off to the local drug store.

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When All You Want is to Give Up

Its was one of the worst winters we ever had. Snow was three feet deep on our hilly, gravel road. It was also a time when I worked in the emergency department at the local hospital. ERs don’t shut down no matter the weather, ever.

Knowing I wouldn’t be able to get to work otherwise, the hospital sent the national guard to collect me for the night shift. The snow was too deep for the even Humvee to travel the ¾ mile from the main road, so the soldiers called ahead to say they would walk to my house and carry me back to the vehicle. Mortified, I left home long before they were scheduled to arrive. The snow was literally up to my hips and I made it less than half way before I met two guardsman.

“You were supposed to stay put so we could carry you,” one sweet young man admonished.

“There is no way anyone is going to carry me,” I retorted.

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The End of Arguing: That’s an Interesting Perspective

Over the holidays I witnessed several disagreements. Nothing serious, just typical quarrels, everyone involved determined to prove their point. Alcohol tends to bring out the debater in people, but even many sober people seem to genuinely enjoy arguing.

Some points are facts – medical issues for example, or how to properly take care of wool. Lots more are opinion. Should a certain book belong on the best seller list, or is it there only because of the author’s fame? Should underwear show above a young man’s pants, which are hanging down practically to his knees, or is respectful attire more important than personal freedom? Why does modern music have to include vulgarity?

Certain subjects are important and worth arguing, but many aren’t. And how often do we succeed in convincing someone else to change their opinion, especially on things that don’t really matter in the long run? Not very often – at least not in my case.

I remember one squabble Neil and I had years ago. It was a stupid one, as most of ours were. Frankly, we were only still arguing because we both had an intense need to be right and to have the last word. It went on for a ridiculous amount of time, as neither wanted to concede, even though on some level we both wanted it to end.  

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The Christmas Delivery

It was a gray dreary winter day. The house felt cold and empty, the weather was drizzly, and a rapidly accelerating runny nose was making me look like Rudolph. Some Christmas cheer was in order. It was time to buy my Christmas tree.

The tree farm I bought from last year was already sold out, so I went to our local produce shop where a few trees still stood in the lot. “Sorry, we don’t have any small ones left,” the clerk said. A particularly tall one caught my eye – densely packed pine needles, a star-ready top and a few ice crystals sparkling in its branches. “I have room in my house for a big tree,” I answered. “I just don’t have room in my car to get it there. Thanks anyway,” I called as I headed back through the parking lot.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he shouted after me. “Take ten dollars off that tree and I’ll deliver it for you. I’ll just follow you back to your house.” Ten dollars off and delivery? Tempting, I thought, but isn’t it too much to ask? I rocked from one foot to the other and pushed my hair behind my ears as I considered the generous offer.

“Really,” he said, “we do it all the time. You go pay my wife inside, and I’ll get the truck.” There were other customers on the lot, but he seemed oblivious to them. When I came back outside, a beat-up pickup held my tree perched in its bed. My house was only about two miles away, but it took ten careful minutes to get there. The clerk followed me slowly, taking the turns gently to protect the tree and its branches.

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Pretending Life is Perfect is Exhausting!

 

It’s Halloween and has been the case with all holidays since Neil died, I find myself reflecting on past celebrations. Like most parents, we started dressing up for Halloween when the girls were babies and created some imaginative costumes over the years.

 

 

We had fun with decorations, too – there were always pumpkin carvings, pipe cleaner spiders and black construction paper bats all over the house. Dinner included treats like brain bread and carrot fingers. We always enjoyed using our imaginations and pretending.

 

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