“You’ve been chosen one of the Guest Editor’s ‘Picks of the Week’,” John yelled from the other room. The teenagers rolled their eyes, the dog barked, and I just sat there with my legs elevated toward heaven. John often yells from the computer room. We‘ve learned to ignore the sound, but generally his yelling contains a few four letter words and AOL expletives.
“Did he combine Editor, Pick, and Week in that sentence,” I asked.
“I don’t know. It sounded something like that. I think.” Was the teenage response I got.
“Help me get these pillows out from under my legs. If he’s pulling one of his “Got Ya’s” (my son is out of town so John is having a hard time finding someone that appreciates his jokes and vast knowledge of senselessness) I’m going to hide all his chocolate for a week.
But John wasn’t teasing. Mary from Alphawoman is the Guest Editor and she has chosen me as one of her ’Picks’. What an honor. To be chosen by someone that I hold in such high regard is without a doubt one of the nicest things that has happened to me. Thank you Mary for your lovely words. I hope that I can live up to your recommendation. I am amazed at how NICE the recognition feels.
I have been trying to obey the doctor’s mandate and stay out of the wheelchair so I haven’t been on the computer for a week. I have popped in for a minute or ten when the urge was beyond control, but for the most part I have been in bed with my ’legs higher then my heart’. What a wonder life is. I haven’t been able to write in a week, but when I return I find I have been honored for my writing.
My son has been sent to Northern California to rebuild a sea wall. He hopes he’ll only be gone 10 days, but it could extend into a maximum of three weeks. Can you imagine leaving the two most precious things in his life, his two teenagers, to a woman in a wheelchair that isn’t supposed to get in the wheelchair and a man that walks with a cane, but often leaves his legs in one spot while the cane continues to another. He’s either completely bonkers or he has the faith of an apostle. If the woman weren’t me I would be tempted to question his sanity.
When we had a family meeting and he outlined to the teenagers what ‘should/could/most likely would’ happen he pointed to John and me and said, “Look at those two. I’m leaving them in your hands. I trust that you will take good care of them and keep them out of trouble.” Somehow that wasn’t exactly the pep talk I would have expected, but it seems to have worked. The kids have been great. In fact, they have barely left the house. All their friends come HERE. The house has been a merry-go-round of young people.
When I was a girl one of my Great Aunts brought a little African American doll to the hospital. Her name was Cassandra and my aunt thought the doll name meant that she was destined to be given to her niece Sandra. Cassandra was my sanity. She had a cloth body and could be squeezed when the pain was unbearable. She had beautiful eyes that understood all the secrets I told her. She was little, cuddly, and perfect. She was my most treasured doll.
My granddaughter was a tomboy, but she was a doll-loving tomboy. She couldn’t sleep unless she had one of her dolls tucked by her side. She would beg me to tell her stories about all the dolls that I once loved. So Cassandra stories became part of her growing up.
Last Christmas she was so excited. She could hardly contain herself until I unwrapped the special gift she had found for me. Inside a beautiful box, tucked into a pink bassinet, was a doll. She had on a pink nightgown, and a pink bonnet surrounded her beautiful African American face. My granddaughter had found a second generation Cassandra. She said that this doll could help me with the pain that my legs caused me now.
Two days ago my granddaughters best friend, Debbie, stayed overnight. When they woke up they came to my room to gossip and giggle about boys. All of a sudden Debbie spied something across the room. She jumped up and ran to what had excited her. When I turned around to see what had caused such a reaction I saw something so sweet it almost made me cry. She had seen the doll that my granddaughter had given me. She had it cradled in her arms and was slowly rocking it. The look on her face was so serene and beautiful. A thirteen-year-old that had been giggling about boys, for just a fleeting moment, had become a little girl again. I wish such moments could be bottled.
Life’s small moments are so magical. And now for this particular battle with my legs I have been given two new moments to keep my spirit alive and positive. The look on a lovely young girls face and the moment that John yelled, “You’re an Editor’s Pick”.