As time goes by...

Living life to the fullest, and looking forward to our future are sometimes dampened by the pull of the bittersweet past.  How sweet it was.

by Carolyn Roberson, Feb 1, 2012

Call me naïve, simplistic, backward, whatever you want, but I really miss yesteryear.  Bittersweet memories of times gone by flood my head, and heart with so much emotion I swell to tears at times.

The television program, “The Waltons,” is one of my favorites.  A life time progresses as I watch each re-run while the family deals with sickness, love, life lessons, loss of a loved one, growing up, growing old, and moving away from the mountain.  Yet, I can turn back time, and watch it all over again. 

Life does not imitate art in this instance.  We cannot turn back the calendar.  We are given but one life.  How we live that life is up to each of us.  Granted we have certain societal rules, cultural guidelines, and government keeping us in the general flow of things, but living in the land of the free, we can choose how we live.

For most of us, life is good, and easy compared to the harsh times our ancestors faced.  Growing a garden, and hunting for wild game is as easy as shopping at your local grocery store.  Yet, our forefathers toiled for the luxury of eating.  Although, these days, it’s getting much harder to keep the pantry stocked because of the economy.

Tanner Farm

My daddy was from a large family although he only had one brother.  His mother; however, was one of seven living siblings: Bud, Sarah, Lillie (my grandmother), Gene, Nettie, Sally, Ed, and another who died as a young child.

Little Granny, as we called her, was about five foot tall, and Harrison, her husband, my great grandfather, was pushing seven foot.  Little Granny dipped snuff, and could be seen with a snuff ring around her mouth at any time. 

Most early Easters were spent on the farm.  Everyone’s families gathered outside the small, square, four-room house around tables, play pens, cars, and strategically far enough away from the outhouse to not notice.

The egg hunt was in the cow pasture, and one year Aunt Nettie sat in a cow patty.  Those were such sweet times, ones I cherish in my memory, and fortunately on 8mm tape, which I have converted to disc.

Rotation

After Harrison and Granny Tanner died, our family started rotating holidays between my mother’s and daddy’s brothers’ houses and our house. 

Thanksgiving was at our house because we had a huge, country table with benches and extensions.  It sat 23 people once when all of the leaves where in place, and the benches and matching chairs were brought in.

Easter was at Momma’s brother’s house because he had land, and a pond.  Uncle Wayne’s place was a great place for the egg hunt. 

My great grandfather on my mother’s side, Ellis, loved to fish in that pond.  But, he wouldn’t go if the cows were lying down because the fish weren’t biting.

Christmas was at Daddy’s brother’s house:  Uncle Bob, and Aunt Clara.

Once I spent the night with my Aunt Clara before Christmas and she decided we would make popcorn balls.  She had never made them before.  We popped the corn, and added the corn syrup, and had a sticky, gooey mess.  My Uncle Bob had to rescue us and explained the syrup had to be at hard boil stage to make the popcorn balls.  By the time we were finished, we were too tired to eat them.

This arrangement went on for years until my Daddy passed away, and Uncle Wayne sold his land.  Aunt Clara still hosts Christmas and we all have a standing invitation.  And, Uncle Wayne has a different place, with lots of land where we can go have bonfires, cook outs, ride horses, and play softball together. 

My Family

I had a very loving family.  My parents were strict, demanded excellence, and were ethical with high moral standards.  This balanced out with tolerance, attention and love.  We also were afforded a rich, Christian heritage founded in Southern Baptist belief.

Momma, and Daddy both worked for the city in the Police, and Fire Departments.   They each retired, and went on to work other jobs.  Momma actually was able to retire a second time from the county. Daddy was a drill instructor in the Air Force before I was born, so you might imagine how our house was run!

Momma Louise

Momma Louise was my babysitter.  An ENTIRE blog can be written about Momma Louise.  You can come back later and read a blog dedicated to Momma Lou.   But I will say this much, I had the most incredible, and magical childhood any child could ever wish for much less realize!

This woman was super woman.  She had to be because she cared for her four children, me, and my two siblings, and, a lot of times, her niece and nephew.  Nine children, that is a small herd!

Yesteryear

Living in yesteryear is not a great place to hide out.  But visiting these sweet memories is so much fun.  Time marches forward, and now I’m making memories with three sons of my own, and my super sweet niece. 

I’ll close this post with a verse that has become dear to my heart and is a good reminder for the day.

1 Thessalonians 4:11 …Aspire to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your own hands

It kind of fits into what I’ve been talking about.  Don’t cha think?!

Hospice Care

A personal flashback to hospice care and the support experienced by our family during the loss our mother, our best friend.

By Carolyn Roberson - Friday 02 Sep 2011

In 2005, my mother slid into the floor at church during the Maundy Thursday service. One would recognize this as unusual right off; however, my mother, having grown up in a Holiness church, had very unique worship practices. My sister, who was with her, thought maybe she was having some kind of spiritual experience until she realized she had passed out.

After arriving at the hospital via ambulance, totally petrified at having disrupted the solemn service at church, mother was back to her usual eccentric self. Apologizing to the preacher when he visited, he assured her it was fine, and everyone understood it was a medical emergency. She felt only slightly better for the disruption.

Diagnosed with Autoimmune Hepatitis, mother was given the news that she had about 24 months to live, and was not a candidate for a liver transplant due to various health issues, and age. She immediately heard terminal, and sat down to die. It was very difficult watching this woman who road a sea doo and snowmobiles, who could run your socks off, work circles around you, and was just a social butterfly become disinterested in life. She turned inward, and her outgoing personality was missed.

Doctors visits were almost daily, and even on the best days, she was tired all the time. One of the last Sundays she attended church left her in the bushes and rolling down the little inclined sidewalk into the street where a car stopped short of hitting her because of a missed step. Much to her dismay, the day she turned in her driver’s license, and got a non-driver I.D. was an emotionally traumatic time for her.

Because her two Blue Cross/Blue Shield policies and her Medicare failed to pay for the prescription of oxygen from the doctor, her home health doctor mentioned that a hospice would pay for oxygen, and provide help to the family with drug administration, and basic personal care. We tried to reassure her that, although she was terminal, hospice intervention was just a route to go for less expense with her medications and such. She didn’t buy it, and it made her quit all together.

Hospice care, once the right people were in place, became a lifesaver, not only for the family, but also for mother. She could interact with someone new, whereas conversations became routine and boring with just the family members. Although it was a health care visit, Miss Butterfly used it as a time for socialization.

At the end, hospice care became a support system for the family members, aiding us in coping with the upcoming loss. The elderly night nurse was grandmotherly, and emotionally supported each of us as we were coming to the point of encouraging mother to let go, and where we could say goodbye. Each nurse was as interactive as we needed, or quiet during our moments of silence; instinctually interactive as each of the family members were experiencing different emotions at different times.

Hospice nursing isn’t for everyone: I am sure of that. It takes someone truly special to accomplish all that they did for our dying mother, and each member of our family. To be there at the time life leaves the body at death is as special as being there for the birth of new life. I will always be thankful to Vitas Hospice Care, San Antonio, Texas.

There's a hole in my bucket!

Is your bucket list full and overflowing, or do you have a hole in your bucket? Patch that hole, or simply buy a new one.

By Carolyn Roberson - Monday 21 Nov 2011

Severe weather rolled into our area leaving me with nothing to do but surf. Surf the web, that is. Having caught up on new uploads by friends and family on Facebook and Flickr, and following the trail of YouTube videos, I’ve discovered there’s a hole in my bucket.

The Bucket List has become the new “thing” in our culture ensuring the older we get, a tangible list of goals can be crossed off when fulfilled. And with less time, and more things added to the list, it’s almost like we are driving in the fast lane to finish it all.

As I have shared in my small series, Vain Worries, I have had an especially hard time turning 50. Most people never know the hour of their death, and at the risk of sounding morbid, based on a family history, most of the woman in my family haven’t lived past 69. This leaves me 19 years to work on my bucket list, give or take.

Knowing this has made me more appreciative of the time I’m given. It’s made me aware of the time I’ve squandered, and when I’m spinning my wheels in the present, which seems to be a lot lately. People get so caught up in day to day, that too often stopping to smell the roses just becomes cliché.
My husband’s daughter added new pictures of her new outfits, new boots, new friends, new boyfriend, and new adventures onto Flickr. The gorgeous young flawless face hit me like a ton of bricks. That was me! It was me 30 years ago. Where has the time gone?

My first job was at 14 years old dipping ice cream at a soda fountain where my grandmother had been a waitress for 30 plus years. My mother had been a grocery department employee in the same store, and my brother would become the Christmas “assembly boy” a few years later. Most employees had some family working in other parts of the store, so it was a homey environment for all.

Paychecks were divided into tithing, spending money for me, groceries added to the family pantry, and new dresses for my mom, and baby sister. These things weren’t required of me, but contributing to our household was important to me and fun at the same time.

Trying to discover who I was as a person, I started a list of things I liked, didn’t like, wanted to accomplish, and where I could see myself in “X” number of years. Things like, Barbra Streisand and blond hair/blue eyed boys fell in the “like” column. Broccoli, and alcohol fell in the “do not like” column. And the “where I want to be” column included living in an orchard, owning my own home, and being a stay home mom. I had a bucket list and didn’t even know it.

Listening to oldies from YouTube while surfing the net was nostalgic. Bachman & Turner’s (aka Bachman Turner Overdrive) song “Let it Ride” is my all time favorite. You know, the one you play 50 times before getting tired of listening to any music period. Others included some Whitney Houston, Crosby, Seals & Nash, and Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds, to name a few. Needless to say, these songs flooded my memory banks with awareness of unfinished business. (And, huh, the knowledge that music isn’t really music these days but, that is another story.)

So, saying there’s a hole in my bucket is a hard thing to do. Living in an orchard is almost an improbability. I don’t own a substantial amount of land, and it’s too late to start growing apple or peach trees. It spilled out of my bucket, and it hurts. Stay at home mom has been crossed off my list. I was a single mom working two jobs, and going to college. By the time I finished college, I turned around, and my children were grown. Do they really even know me? It hurts.

Potty training a 2 year old wasn’t on my list at 50, but it happened. I’m a stay at home aunt and this sweet little princess trained in 2 weeks. What a breeze compared to the months it took for my sons. Perhaps, I rushed it, and they have deep seeded mother issues that will surface in later life causing thousands of dollars to be spent on psychotherapy. Or, it may be easier for girls. Who knows, I did the best I could at that age, and time; or did I?

The new bucket list includes a trip to England, Ireland, and Wales, Canada, Montana, and Savannah, Georgia with the hubs. I’ve added a cake decorating class from the Wilton school in Chicago. My husband is a master baker, so he will enjoy this also. Lastly, getting my youngest through college, and seeing him on his own finishes up the list.

This article isn’t intended to be sad but to act as a wake up call. And, to suggest that no matter what your age, start your bucket list early enough to enjoy life. At the end of the road, it can be one well traveled instead of one muddy muck in which you’ve gotten stuck, and spent your wheels. Patch that bucket folks, or simply buy a new one!