The Fair

   I don’t know how old I was the first time I went to the State Fair but I know it was a loooooong time ago.  Every year when sister and I were young, city grandparents would take us to the fair.  It was such a treat.  There was nothing like seeing the lights on the mid-way at night, riding the tilt-a-whirl and the scrambler (that’s about as brave as I would get with the rides) and that feel of cotton candy melting on your tongue (and your hands, and your cheek, and your pants and…..).  Fast forward many years and I’m an adult and my dad becomes one of the directors of the North Alabama State Fair.  Now the NASF is not your regular ole fair.  I mean, it has a mid-way with rides and carnies hollering at you to play over priced games that you will never win but it is more than just that.  The NASF also has exhibit halls where people win blue ribbons for their canned goods, their quilts, pies, pumpkins, cotton and all kinds of stuff.  Booths also have vendors from the local 4H clubs, scouting troops, local politicians and your friendly Tupperware, Mary Kay and Beauty Control reps.  BUT THAT’S NOT ALL FOLKS!  There is also a place where people bring their livestock and win ribbons.  Horses, cows, goats, just all kinds of animals.  And to top it all off, a small arena that will host a beauty pageant, a demolition derby, a clown show and a greased pig catching contest.   Yep, it’s a pretty cool fair. 

   Now as I said, my dad became one of the directors many years ago and because of that, every year sister and I have to go to the fair.  More importantly, we have to take our kids.  Our kids have been going to the fair since birth.  Not going to the fair is not an option.  To my parents, that would be the equivalent of not coming home for Christmas.  Our kids use to get confused and tell people that their papaw owned the fair.  If you have ever heard that from my children – well it is not true.  Papaw doesn’t own the fair. Too bad.

   Every year the routine is the same.  We call papaw from the highway and tell him we are almost at the fairground entrance.  We stop at the guard gate, papaw pulls up on his John Deere Gator (adorned with a flashing light, “Ken, Director” painted on the front and an obnoxious horn), the kids get out of my car and get in the gator and I follow behind as he weaves us through the parking lot and to the directors “retreat” (basically a building where they all meet and park their obnoxiously large motor homes).  From there, everything is a free for all.  Free rides, free food, free laughs.  This year was no exception.  Last Friday after school we headed to the Shoals for the fair.  Just like the last 16 years, we called and papaw picked the kids up at the gate.  They aren’t quite as eager to ride with the flashing light as they were when they were 4 and 6, but they wouldn’t dare disappoint papaw by asking him not to light it up (or blow the horn).  Sister and I quit riding rides a few years ago.  Seems every time we got off of one we felt dizzy, sick or frightened for our life.  We decided it was time to stop riding and just stick to eating our way through the fair.  OHHH, now we’re getting somewhere.  The food.  Fair food is the best.  It’s disgusting.  It always makes me sick later.  And it always makes me swear to never eat fair food again. Until the next year.

   This year it seemed the big attraction was the clown show.  I’m not sure why cousin Angie and Abbie wanted to see it.  We had our own family clown show going on right there in the motor home.  Uncle John, Aunt Brenda, Aunt Judy, Nanny, Papaw, Cousin Ann and husband Paul, Aunt Rhonda, Uncle Robert, Cousin Rob, me, Mike, Abbie and Michael.  There ain’t no motor home big enough for that clown show!  I think after seeing the clown show in the arena they agreed that the Patterson clown show was even better. 

   So this year as in years past, the kids rode rides, we all shared corn dogs, fries, nachos, cotton candy, candied apples and the most loved of all – funnel cake.  For the first time ever,  Michael won a huge stuffed animal.  Must have only cost us $1000 (we do have to pay to play games, well actually papaw pays). We laughed a lot this year.  Family has a way of doing that to ya.  They can make you laugh.  I use to think they weren’t really that funny but I believe I was wrong.  They are funny.  As a matter of fact, I think it might just be the funniest clown show around and I don’t think I ever want to miss out on it.  I wonder if city grandparents are looking down from heaven saying, “Lordy, just look at what we started.”  Probably they are.  I hope so.

   For your viewing pleasure here are a few scenes from Friday night:

And here we go.......

And the blue ribbon goes to....

Bring on the farm animals.

All lit up.

Ready to ride.

The $1000 monkey.

Let the eating frenzy begin.

It ain't over til the fat lady sings... la, la, la

Memories on the 7th Floor

   They tell us they are moving her from the emergency room to the 7^th floor.  So I head up there to wait.  They wheel her in to room 1753 and get her comfortable.  It’s a blessing to be able to sit in the room with her.  The room is familiar. Very familiar. 

   The 7^th floor at Huntsville Hospital is the oncology floor.  It was only a year ago that I walked those floors, sat in those rooms, stared out those windows, sitting in the room on the 7^th floor with my own husband.  It was a blessing then too.  Don’t get me wrong, it was tiring and it was emotional but it was a blessing. 

   Last night I sat at the window seat at the end of the hallway, staring out the window as the rain came down.  Memories are funny things.  I remember clearly doing that same thing last year.  Watching out that same window during the rain.  I remember the rain looking like liquid diamonds.  Why had I not ever noticed it looking like that before?  It’s strange how memories pop into our heads.  I have a lot of memories I’d like to forget!  I wish those would just pop right out and not come back.  When I get to heaven I’m gonna have to ask God why he allowed me to remember bad memories but on any given day I might not remember my kids birthdates or what I had for lunch that day!  That just doesn’t seem right.  But, I think I’ve learned something about those not so good memories.  I think I have finally learned to use even those memories for good.  When Mike was going through his cancer stuff last year one of the things he said that really stuck with me was that every bad thing you go through is an opportunity for good.  So I suppose that applies to bad memories too.  They have potential for good – if we choose.

   So in case you wondered, the 7^th floor memories don’t scare me.  They grow me.  They remind me that every day is a gift and one to be thankful for.  They remind me that there are no guarantees in life.  To quote my friend in room 1753, “It can all change on a dime.”  And she is exactly right; we just have to be ready.  And by ready I mean- prayed up- lived up- faithed up (I know that’s not a real word but you get the point). 

   In a little while I’ll head back to the 7^th floor.  I’ll visit her.  I’ll breathe in the familiarity of room 1753 and the 7th floor,  and know that these hours and days are just building more memories.  Like liquid diamonds.

Pedro The Armadillo

   Abbie and I were coming home from a party last night, minding our own business when all of a sudden – KERPLUNK!

Me:  “Abbie, what the heck was that?”

Abbie: “An armadillo.  You just hit an armadillo.”

Me: “Was it dead?”

Abbie: “No. But it is now.  Poor thing.  He was so innocent.  He never saw it coming.  All he wanted to do was get to the other side of the street.  And become a dentist.”

Me: “What?”

Abbie: “ Oh, I just threw in the part about becoming a dentist.”

   Now what I thought was ironic was the fact that we were coming from a barn dance and we were dressed in western attire AND we hit an armadillo.  Not a deer or squirrel or a cat.  Oh my goodness, did I just mention cat in yet another blog?   I’m sorry.  Anyway, I thought that was pretty ironic.  You know, very Texan like – barn dance, western attire, armadillo.  Ok, maybe only funny and ironic to me.

   I got to thinking last night about how life is like Pedro (The armadillo. I gave him a name.  It was the least I could do.).  You are just walking along, minding your own business, just trying to get from point A to point B when all of a sudden – KERPLUNK!  Something hits you.  You never saw it coming and there you are trying to hobble along and figure out what to do.  Unlike Pedro (may he rest in peace), all hits do not end our lives.  They are what I call, bumps in the road.  Sometimes they are just inconvenient bumps but other times they may jar us to our very core, causing us to question everything we believe in.  But what I’ve learned is that the bumps may try to rock our faith but they can’t destroy it unless we let it.  We can use those bumps to strengthen our faith.  

   I was telling a friend recently that this past year and a half has made me start feeling like I’m the modern day version of Job (You know, the guy in the Bible?  Old Testament?  One of the books named after him?)  And while some may think that is sad, I just try to find the humor in it.  At least I didn’t wake up this morning to find my body covered in boils!  Two blisters from my cowboy boots but no boils.  I like ole Job.  Lest you think the book is only about horrible things happening to one faithful guy, I will enlighten you to the fact that Job started as a guy who had it all AND was a man of great faith.  THEN all the bumps in the road came.  Once you get beyond what I call “Job’s whining” (my interpretation, not the bible’s words) and his friends trying to tell him how to fix things, you will find that Job still remained faithful to what he believed.  He remained faithful to God.  The bumps were intended to rock his faith but Job didn’t give in to them.  He remained faithful.  Then in the end, after all the bumps and losing everything, God rewarded him for his faithfulness.  Riches to rags to riches.  Faithfulness.  I’m not saying we will be showered with wealth and great health if we remain faithful during those difficult times, I’m just saying, we are more.  We are more than our bumps in the road.  More than the job, more than the diagnosis, more than the ache in our heart, more than that which wants to rob us of everything we believe in.  There is a higher calling, a better place.  And as for me, while I’m here on this earth I want to live my life for that higher calling so that one day I’ll see that better place. 

   Now, as for Pedro, I’m going to think happy thoughts.  I’m thinking he made it across the street, met up with his armadillo family, nursed his broken hind leg and has applied to dental school.  However, if you are driving down Green Cove Road today and see a dead armadillo in the road – just don’t tell me.  I’m in my happy place.

        
                      This blog dedicated to the most faithful,  bump in the road fighter I know....
                                                                     Michelle

Circle of Life

Remember the Lion King, the part where Rafiki holds up the baby cub and the Elton John song, “The Circle of Life” plays in the background?  I suppose that is what most people think of when they hear the term “circle of life”.  I on the other hand get a completely different mental picture.  It happened to me the first day I realized ---- I had become my mother.  ANNNNNDDD the cirrrrrcle of liiiffffee……  Yep.  There you have it.  The real meaning of “The Circle of Life.”

Recently (as in earlier this evening) I was at a football get-together.  Now, I love a good get-together.  I’m not a big football fan but if that’s what brings friends together, then I’m all for it!  So as I’m standing around the kitchen my sweet little friend Shan comes up and talks to me.  Shan’s mom is my good friend and I’ve known Shan for many years.  As I said, sweet, young, early 20-something, Christian, SINGLE, young lady.  I did say that earlier didn’t I? The part about her being single?  Anyway, Shan asks me if I tried the XXX dip.  That was when it happened.  The moment I knew I had to share with Shan about the circle of life.  So I said, “Shan, there is something you need to know.  You are old enough now to hear this.  And here it is……. One day, yes one day, you will become your mother.”  I think the gasp, moan and eye roll from her was a little dramatic but perhaps I had done the same thing when I was first informed of this life event.  In my 20’s I was adamant that I would NOT be like my mother!  Somewhere in my 30’s I decided well, I guess there are some things about my mother that I might want to be like.  And then, one day it happened.  Words came from my own mouth,  I turned and searched the room to see where my mother was because I was sure those words were coming from her.  That was the first time the voice in my head said, “You have become your mother.”  The first of many times. 

This past year my daughter was dating a sweet young man and as he sat in our kitchen one evening I shared with him this simple bit of advice:   Always be sure you like your girl friend’s mother because if you should one day marry that girl, at some point in your life together you are going to look at her and either think or say (and may I suggest that you just keep the thought to yourself), she has become her mother.  He and Abbie are no longer dating but I am SURE it has NOTHING to do with my advice!

So you may be wondering how in the world we got from,”Mrs. Pam, have you tried the XXX dip,” to becoming your mother.  Well, I did try XXX dip but I just couldn’t eat it.  For years, my mother has told me how she won’t eat at potluck dinners unless she knows who brought each dish.  The reason?  Well Ruth (my mom) says you just never know about people.  Maybe they have a bunch of cats and those cats are allowed to sit on the counter tops.  And because of that, she will not eat at a potluck dinner.  And because of that, I could not eat XXX dip.  Sad, but true.  With a gasp, moan and eye roll, I must admit – I am Ruth.  ANNNNNDDD the cirrrrrcle of liiiffffee……

(PS – I’m sorry if you are offended by the cat comment or the “I’m not a big football fan” comment.  That’s just me and my crazy family.  However, I love brussels sprouts and you probably don’t, but that’s ok, I’m not offended.  You just never know about people.)