Hard Choices

In my younger years, it never occurred to me that at 50 years of age I would become a Caretaker. Who would have guessed that my strapping Marine husband and parents who always looked and acted 10 years younger than their peers, would all begin to fall apart when I was still full of spit and vinegar? And yet... as I look back on my life, I realize that the Universe was preparing me all along for just this time in my life.

When you are a Caretaker, you have to make Hard Choices: very Hard Choices.

In the past few months, two of my dear nephews have gotten married in states far away from Montana. In another lifetime, I would have moved mountains to be there with them to celebrate their special day. (I truly hope they both know this in their hearts and souls.) There are no words for how my heart ached to have to say from the very first mention of a week of travel (for why spend that kind of money and effort, if you do not at least spend a week away?) that sorry, but there was no way I could pull a trip off, at this point in time.

Too many times I have had to send grandchildren home--grandchildren that will never again be that small or that anxious or thrilled to spend time at Nani and Grandpa's house--due to someone else I love needing care when they got sick or hurt. Too often have I had to make the choice to stay put when invited on a trip to Mexico or Tennessee or Washington DC. Too many times have I had to tell people I love that right now we cannot have company....so many Hard Choices...

Of course, I feel terribly angry at the Universe, for forcing the World Traveler in me to be so solidly grounded in time and place. I cannot say how many times I have harbored resentment towards these people I love so much, because I have had to choose them over me and something I really wanted to do. Of course, when this happens, I am too grumpy to th

ese people I love and watch over. I cannot say how many times I have screamed on the inside; how many times I have cried in the shower. I constantly find myself angry at myself for my attitude. I have to pull myself aside and tell myself that it is inherent in our humanity that we say, "Why me?", or "When will it be my turn?". I have to continually give myself a break...

But these two people, my husband and my mother, are two of the Best People I have encountered in my lifetime. They have given so much for so little in return. They (no doubt) have had their "Why me?" and "When will it be my turn?' moments in their lifetimes. But, ungrudgingly, they stood up to the challenges their lives put in front of them. I do not care for them because I want to be seen as a Martyr. I care for them because the Universe had chosen this to be what I do.

And so, I will continue to make Hard Choices.

Love the USA!

Right off the top, let me say that this is not a political statement! I feel about politics the way I feel about religion: it seems to be a necessary evil, it is obviously and inevitably a part of our lives, and everybody is entitled to their own opinion about it....but please do not share your opinions with me! I have enough going on in my head without having to listen to another person's thoughts on the subject!

No, this is about the smallness of so many peoples' mindsets. Over the years, while growing up in Latin America and coming home once a year to this glorious country, where the water is safe to drink, where there is grass growing around the houses, where you do not have to worry about something you eat in a restaurant or out of a fast food truck giving you diarrhea and/or dysentery, where the streets are paved and there are sidewalks alongside them for walking, where you can drive for days without going through border checks and inspections of everything you have with you....I just cannot begin to say the joy I would feel in crossing into my beautiful, clean, amazing country--the United States of America!

I remember my first encounters with people complaining about the United States...I was fairly young--maybe 15??--and even then my first thought was, "Well...they need to go down to Chiapas and live for a few months! THEN they would appreciate living in such a wonderful country!"

Why do you suppose there are so many people clamoring to get into our country? There are people of all ages, who love their homes, yet who would do anything--I mean risk their lives, walk for hundreds of miles on bare feet, cross deadly oceans, stowaway in the most terrifying ways...all to come to this place we are so fortunate...SO VERY FORTUNATE... to call home. Do you not understand how very, very, very lucky you are to be here??

I truly think that if you, as an American, do not deeply and appreciate love this United States of America, then you need to go away to another place and live for awhile, until you do...and believe me, you will so very much appreciate it!

(Granted, there are expatriates who are very happy with living in another country. But they are living as the Privileged Few and not as a Local Villager. More money than everyone else around you always makes life easier... )

So, on this day of celebrating the United States of America, please look around you. Appreciate your good fortune of living in this beautiful, diverse, and awe-inspiring country. Celebrate America!

Dolly Dolly

This is another project I dug out of the needlework stash this spring. I got her with a bag of quilting fabric. In the 1970s and 1980s, you could purchase printed fabric panels with images to cut out and stuff; Cranston made all sorts. In fact, I discovered that you can still find them on E-bay, if you are interested in making one of your own. I decided to dress this baby doll up with scraps of lace and ribbon and a bit of sparkly embroidery. I took Dolly over to show my mom, and she immediately fell in love! She now resides on her bed, in a place of honor...

I hand sewed and embroidered both the front

and back before cutting her out and sewing her together. Because these kinds of stuffed dolls are made very simply, you can embellish a lot or a little, as you wish. In 1976, Mom made a simple one for my daughter, that could easily be washed and dried again and again...