Yesterday was Mother’s Day.  Of course, there were many memories of my Mama running through my head.  There was a sadness and yet a joy that every day something happens that is a “Jacque” moment.

When I was a little girl, Mother’s Day was always celebrated.  We would go to Sunday School and Church and it was unheard of not to wear a corsage or at least a flower.  It was accepted that you wore a red corsage/flower if your mother was living and a white one if she were dead.   Of course, some people wore orchids, but it was mostly roses or carnations for us.

I remember that my Grandma Dean had rose bushes and I know more than once, we went to her house and clipped roses to wear on Mother’s Day.  (I also remember walking to elementary school by Grandma Dean’s house and she would be sitting on her carport in the swing; I would stop and she would cut a rose to take to my teacher!  I had to become a Grandmother before I understood, getting up and dressed and outside, just to see your grandchild on her way to school.) Later when I was working and married, I would order corsages for Mama.  I have pictures of her dressed for Church with her red corsage.

After Church, we would visit both Grandma’s with gifts and cards.  After Bill and I married, it sometimes took Saturday and Sunday afternoon to visit our mothers and grandmothers on Mother’s Day weekend but it was a tradition…and an expectation. 

Today, I am baking Mama’s pound cake.  I can duplicate the cake very well, but have yet to make the white icing she used.  After she went to Memory Care, we went through her recipes and we were surprised how sparse they were and how many things we remember her cooking and baking that were not written down.  I know years ago when I wanted to make her cornbread dressing, she said “I will come show you” and I wrote it down as she cooked!

She had written her own obituary which we found on her computer and in it she had said one of her greatest joys was baking for her children and grandchildren.  After I moved west, I would frequently make the trip back to Georgia, particularly at Christmas.  When I got there, no matter how late, Mama and Daddy would be up waiting and there would be homemade iced pound cake or sometimes my favorite German Chocolate cake, coffee or milk.  On my infamous trip when I got stuck in a blizzard, Mama had packed sliced iced pound cake slices for the road and Linda Shaw and I ate them on the road when we got stuck!

I have her stand mixer.  Daddy told me to take it home and use it after she no longer was at home.  Every time I use it, I feel like she is looking over my shoulder making sure I do it correctly! 

For the last two years, we have been going through things at Mama and Daddy’s house (at Daddy’s direction) and I have brought a few things home that make my house feel like home and connect me to Mama.  I have her little teapot kitchen clock from the 40’s; my brother, Pat, tells me they had it before I was born.  I have a little jelly/jam condiment set that she remembered even after she forgot who I was!  Of course, I also have many of her paintings and drawings, letters, cards and photos. 

We are still sorting!  I have some costume jewelry pieces that I remember her wearing.  I love vintage costume jewelry and I can remember her wearing many of the pieces I have. 

I found a lot of the costume jewelry separated in little boxes and labelled “sparkly earrings” “bracelets” “for Linda” “Christmas pins” etc.  Among the things I found was a little button pin that said “Give a Damn” and a button pin that said “Choose Peace”

My son, Brian, wanted the “Give a Damn” button and I took the “Choose Peace” and when I think that she kept these two little button pins, I realize, that those are a capsule message of who she was.  She did “give a damn” about her family, her friends and the world.  And she continually told me, even when the Alzheimer’s had taken her memories, that you should always make peace and remember to be kind, no matter what.

As a celebration of Mother’s day and the coming year, I am going to seek ways to “Give a Damn” and “Choose Peace” in memory of my beautiful Mama.  I will remember the Mama before she was so frail and forgetful, before the Alzheimer’s took that Mama away from me.  I will remember when she was the dynamic, opinionated, well read, talented Mama who left me a love of art, music, literature, nature, gardening, sewing, crafts and baking.   And showed me, by example, how to be a Grandmother.

And Mama, if you can see this in heaven, we are all taking care of the Old Vet, just like you asked us too, until he will be with you again.

CHOOSE PEACE and GIVE A DAMN!

Linda

On Sunday, January 31^st, I will be 72 years old.  Compared to my Daddy, who celebrated his 100^th birthday in December, I consider myself young!

It will be a little sad for me, as until last year, I always (yes always) received a card, a telephone call and most years a gift from my Mama and Daddy.  When Mama was no longer able to send cards, Daddy would get one and send it, I am sure it was done at her direction!

For the first forty years of my life, when I lived in Georgia, there was always a homemade, decorated cake with candles.  Recently I have been going through stacks of old photos and I have found numerous birthday photos of me, as well as my sons and Mama and Daddy, blowing out the candles.  Mama loved cards and baking and birthdays!

Her gifts, while not expensive, were very well thought out and I know she would spend hours, picking out just the right card and gift.  I have also found photos of my birthday parties as a child.  Sometimes just extended family, but always a special outfit, handmade decorations and party hats and of course a decorated cake.

The story of the day I was born, was repeated every year.  I was born during an ice storm in Atlanta, which is unusual weather and will shut down the whole city.  As the years went by, the story was embellished and I always enjoyed the retelling, as did my parents.  Mama once told me that the power went out and the hospital (Crawford Long in Atlanta) was using a generator.  I was born on what she called “auxiliary” power.  When this detail was added to the story, we would laugh and say that explained a lot about my eccentricities and sometimes kookiness!

I was always assured I was a wanted and planned child, which I have never doubted.  I am fortunate to have had my parents in my life through ups and downs and my children and my grandchildren.  While they did not always agree or approve of my choices or my life, they were always there and willing to talk.  I knew they loved me, even though they did not always understand me.

In the last few years, friends and family have posted fund raising events on social media on their birthdays, asking that in lieu of gifts a donation be made to a favorite charity.  I received a notice several days ago asking if this is something I would like to do.

I have given it a lot of thought and I have decided that I prefer a different kind of “honor”.  So I am asking that on my birthday, if you would like to do something to honor the day, call your Mama.  If your Mother is no longer with us, call your Dad or your sibling or a cousin or a friend.  Send a card telling someone you are thinking of them, tell your neighbor “Good Morning”, reach out to someone who needs to know you thought of them.

For years I have been a fan of Lewis Grizzard and his book “Don’t Forget to Call Your Mama – I Wish I Could Call Mine” was always a favorite of mine.

The referenced quote is from legendary Alabama Football Coach, Bear Bryant.  It seems Bear Bryant was making a commercial for the long defunct South Central Bell and the script had him tell how he encouraged his players to keep in touch with their families.  The last line was to be “Have you called your Mama today?” and Coach Bryant ad libbed the final line “I sure wish I could call mine.”

For the last few years before she died, as Mama’s dementia progressed, it was not possible to talk to her on the phone and I have missed hearing her voice.  For even as she declined her voice stayed strong most of the time and she sounded like the Mama I remembered.  

And so, Sunday when I celebrate my 72^nd birthday, I will miss that call and the card and the telling of the story of the day I was born.

Call your Mama!  I wish I could call mine.

Peace and Love,

Linda

Today I washed Winston’s (my one eyed Shih tzu) favorite toy…Rocky.

It is a raccoon that was given to Winston for Christmas by Bobbi several years ago.  It quickly became his favorite and although he has a toy box full of toys, Rocky is the one that he usually pulls out when he wants to play or just wants a companion.

Rocky is well worn and has to be washed periodically because he smells so awful, it permeates the whole house.  Winston is a little anxious when he sees Rocky going into the washing machine and is always glad when the ordeal is over and Rocky is once again back in the toy box.

This morning when I took Rocky out of the washer and put him on the patio table to dry, I was reminded of the Velveteen Rabbit quote.  Rocky has lost an ear and the other ear probably won’t last much longer, his fur is worn, but he is much loved by Winston who does not notice the flaws.

Patrick said he was not familiar with the Velveteen Rabbit quote and of course, I looked it up for him…

In the book “The Velveteen Rabbit” the Velveteen Rabbit asks the Skin Horse “What is real?”  The Skin Horse explains “Real isn’t how you are made.…It’s a thing that happens to you.”

“You become.  It takes a long time.  That is why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.  But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

This has been a difficult year for so many of us, but I have learned, I don’t break easily and I don’t have to be carefully kept.  I do still have sharp edges at times, but I am learning to dull them down a little.  I know that I am loved by friends and family and by my Heavenly Father.  Yes, my hair is grey, my vision is not so good anymore and sometimes my joints hurt…and I feel shabby.  But the quote has proven true, these things don’t matter…I am becoming Real.

During this Holiday Season, I wish you Joy and that you are loved so much you may become Real.

“Because once you are Real you can’t become unreal again.  It lasts for always.”

And to the world “Peace on Earth, Good Will towards Men.”

It has been four weeks, since my Mama went to sleep and did not wake up.  I had a call a few days before that, and the hospice nurse said she had a cough and her oxygen levels were low and it was suspected she had pneumonia.  Of course, my fear was that it was COVID19, but I was assured that it was not.  They had ordered a chest x-ray and would start antibiotics.  When the x-ray was read, it was a mild case of pneumonia, but they had caught it early and it seemed that she was expected to recover.  I said I would come (I am 1800 miles away) and was told, if it takes her you won’t make it and if she is better you won’t be able to see her because of COVID restrictions.

She was a dementia patient in Memory Care and under Hospice care for the last fifteen months.  She was frail and very tiny but had stabilized and seemed to be holding her own.  She had several falls, one shortly after she went to Memory Care, which resulted in a head injury, but she recovered and was stitched up and sent back to her little studio apartment. 

Last January and February, almost exactly a month apart, she fell and hit her head.  Both times she was sent to ER.  The first time she was checked out and sent back to Memory Care and the second visit they discovered she had aspiration pneumonia.  They kept her in the hospital for a couple of days and then she went back to her studio. 

The frequent falls were of concern and when I visited in early March, I met with the staff at the Memory Care and the Hospice Nurse and asked what could be done to protect her.  They allowed me to put a security camera in her room, so I could monitor her activity and Hospice provided her a low, concave hospital bed and fall mats.  The situation seemed to improve.

The last time I sat with her, on Friday, March 6, we listened to music…her favorites, John Denver and Chattanooga Choo Choo.  She wasn’t sure who I was, but knew I was familiar.  She was very peaceful and said she had no pain and said she was doing “pretty good.”

I had stopped telling her Good-bye; instead I would say “I love you, see you soon.”  She always thanked me for visiting and sometimes said “thank you for loving me.”  I would hold her hand and it seemed to comfort her and make her feel safe.  Sometimes she thought I was her sister Juhn or her sister Janelle and would ask about her Mama.  I would always reassure her everyone was doing okay and she didn’t need to worry about them. 

The March visit had been planned to see if it was possible to move her and my Daddy to Phoenix.  The Hospice nurses saw no reason that they should not be moved, just that my mother would need to go via transport.  Daddy was cleared to fly or make the road trip.

As Mama often said “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”  They would be close to me, in a better climate and I could check on them frequently.  However, I had not allowed that while my timing is sometimes not the best, the Lord’s timing is perfect and that is why the move never happened.

I immediately started the process of moving them to Phoenix.  I had investigated numerous times and had asked them to move here since 2012.  We got close a couple of times, but in the end, they always had a reason they did not think it was time for them to move.  In March, Daddy agreed that he would do whatever I thought was best.  The plan was to move Mama first and get her settled and then move Daddy.  The paperwork was started and she was scheduled to move mid-April.  They were going to be able to share an apartment and it was only a mile from my house.

When I flew home that Friday night in early March, people in the airport were already starting to wear masks and the man in the middle seat next to me, wiped down all armrests and tray tables in our row.  I have a shawl that I always have in my carry on, and wrapped it around my face and nose.

On March 11, all visitors were prevented from entering the Assisted Living/Memory Care facility where my parents were living.  At that time, I stopped the process of getting them moved to Phoenix, as it was too much of a risk to them and I did not want to chance having them in two different places.  Much to my concern even Hospice nurses and other hospice caregivers (including Social Worker, Chaplain, Aids and volunteers) were denied access except under extreme emergency, which was to be determined by the Facility Staff.

After the initial lockdown and COVID19 testing, my Daddy was allowed to visit Mama, although at times only brief, masked, socially distanced visits. He was her only link with the outside world and the family she had devoted her life too. My son and daughter in law window visited frequently with Daddy, I tried Facetime and phone calls with him, which because of his hearing loss sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. Window visits would not work for Mama, we determined it would only be more confusing. I tried FaceTime and phone calls to her, but even facilitated by staff, they were just too confusing. She did not understand, what was happening. Except for seeing her in her room, through the security camera, I was cut off from all contact with her.

They celebrated their 78^th wedding anniversary at the facility in May.  The staff had decorated a room and they were able to eat together, but not touch.  No family was allowed to visit. 

On June 1, porch visits were allowed, but limited to two per day for the entire facility and by appointment.  My Son and daughter in law, started to visit and were able to see their Grandparents, but with masks and six feet apart, no touching.  My brother went in June to take Daddy to the dentist to have a tooth pulled and after taking him out, had no access to him, as Daddy was quarantined in his room for two weeks. My brother saw our Mother once. We were concerned that my Dad could not see my mother for two weeks and she was only allowed one visitor per week, by appointment.  My other son and family visited in July, but were limited to a brief porch visit.

I went back in mid-September to take my Dad to the dermatologist and the cardiologist.  They only time I was able to visit with him was in the car on the way to the appointments.  I was able to “porch” visit with my mother twice during that two weeks.  The first visit was very good.  When they brought her out she said “that is Linda”.  I am sure she had been coached on who I was, but I think for that short time she made the connection.  We had a nice conversation, nothing like the hours we would talk in the “old days” but it was a very pleasant visit.  I had taken her two little dolls that she had made and when she looked at them and where I had written her name on them, she said “Jacque that is me.”  She remembered that she “use to make a lot of things” and had made these dolls.  She was delighted that I was going to leave them and she could keep them in her room.

The second visit right before I left was upsetting.  They brought her out to the porch but it was a cool windy day.  I could tell she was uncomfortable and cold.  I asked if we could visit inside and was told “no, against the rules.”  I explained it was too cold and she was so fragile, but was told, maybe next time they would have a place set up for us to visit inside.

I asked if she wanted to go inside and get in her recliner with a blanket and she said “yes”…I told her  that I loved her and would see her soon.  She smiled and said good bye.  I could not hug her or hold her hand or even touch her.  That was the last time I saw her.

I had planned to go back for Christmas and Daddy’s 100^th birthday and was again starting plans to move them to Anniston.  I knew they could not make the trip to Phoenix but I was still hopeful we could get them to a place where family could visit frequently. 

I was sending them letters and cards every week, telling them to hold on, I was coming soon.  I sent Mama the last card on November 9^th, telling her I would be there soon.  It was never opened. 

In the four weeks, since Mama died, I have wondered what we could or should have done differently.  I am thankful that I did not start the move to Phoenix, which would have in all probability separated them.  I have experienced a myriad of emotions…anger, frustration, grief, sadness, hopelessness. 

We were able to get my Dad moved to Alabama near my son and family two weeks ago.  It has not been a smooth transition, but I think it was the right choice.  I am headed back there in about ten days, to see my Dad and be there for his 100^th birthday.  Daddy has faced this with dignity and acceptance.  He fulfilled his promise to take care of my mother and to always be there for her.  He sat with her on the afternoon before she died the next morning.  We did not know that the end was so close, although maybe we should have.

My daughter in law said in October that Grandma had recognized her on a visit, which had not happened in a long time.  Mama continued to know my Dad and frequently knew my son, who visited often.  Daddy had even said her memory was better and she was more conversational.  About ten days before she died, I woke up in the middle of the night and sat up in bed.  The next day I said to Patrick, that I didn’t think Mama would live to move to Anniston.  Somehow I knew I would not see her again.  I had read that often in dementia patients, they will have a period of lucidity not long before the end.

My mother’s last eight months are of great concern to me.  I think it was cruel to cut her off from her family and hospice care and confine her to a small area.  I advocated for her care, the best way I knew how, but I continually ran into a wall.  I was told she was being “protected” I am angry that she was cut off from those who loved her and it didn’t change anything.  She was denied services and care that had been promised and that were needed.    

I am thankful that Daddy was there with her.  She always said he was her hero and he proved to be worthy of that title.

I have struggled with how to cope with the situation and I am trying to forget the end and remember the Mama of ten years ago.  The fantastic Grandma, the Mama who always baked a pound cake when anyone was coming, who would read poetry, who could quote the Bible and Edwin Markham, who loved birds and flowers.  A lifelong Christian. 

In the last few weeks, I have seen and heard from the people who loved her, who were influenced positively by her and who have frequently remarked about her beautiful hand written notes!  In cleaning out her things, I was amazed by the correspondence, most of it hand written, that was among her papers.  She wrote drafts of everything and then revised and finally copied in her beautiful penmanship and sent out to the family and friends.  She loved pretty notecards and notepaper and I would frequently send it to her as a gift. 

About a week ago, I posted this on Facebook with a picture of the nameplate

This is my Mother’s name plate.  She only worked a few years and in the late 60’s she brought it home.

It always sat on her desk or work table at home.

My boys would ask “Grandma, why do you have your name on your desk?”

She would laugh and answer “When I am old and don’t remember who I am, I can get up every morning and look at my desk and it will tell me.”

When she went to Memory Care, we took her name plate and put it on her desk (with her pencils, pens and note paper)

We cleaned out her room a couple of weeks ago and it was there and I brought it home and it is now on my desk.

A lot of her memories were gone but until the end she recognized her name and knew who she was.

I look at her name every morning when I go to my desk to write or handle “business”.

I am focusing on remembering to forget the negative, the hurt, the sadness and the sorrow.  I am trying to write more notes, send more cards, watch the birds, work in the yard, spend time with my Grandchildren and do the things that she taught me bring happiness and joy.

She left a letter that I found at the house, saying if she went before “the Old Vet” to take care of him until they could be together again. 

I am trying to do that, with the help and support of my family and friends.

“Love is patient, Love is kind…Love NEVER fails”

Peace,

Linda

My four year old Grandson will have his Mom or Dad call me and he will say “Gramma, I am missing you.” When he is with me, he will sometimes say “I am missing my Daddy or Mommy (or his brothers).” He will almost always add the “am.”

Spoken in that sweet, sincere little boy voice, it represents what it means to want to see someone as soon and as long as possible. To me it says so much more than “I miss you.”

Just adding the word “am” changes an often used phase into present continuous tense. The “am” makes it a more active longing.

Not only do I miss you, but I am missing you right this minute!

My sweet Mama, left this earthly life two weeks ago. She had dementia and was in a memory care facility. For the last eight months because of COVID, visits have been limited and at times denied.

I cannot say her death was unexpected, but I was always hopeful I would see her one more time. I am thankful that when it was time it was quick and she passed to the other side in her sleep.

Since 1989, I have lived thousands of miles away from my parents, on the other side of the country. I have visited as often as possible and for the last five years have done multiple extended visits every year.

As the dementia became worse, Mama often did not know who I was. She remembered LINDA her daughter, but some how the old woman sitting across from her was familiar, but not the daughter she knew.

We tried FaceTime and phone calls but that was too confusing for her, so I was limited to visiting with her in person when I could make the trip.

When I would leave, I would tell her I loved her and I would see her soon. I stopped saying Good Bye about five years ago. She had lost concept of time and sometimes she would reply “Thank you for loving me.”

She had told me sometime back that if I came back for a visit and she wasn’t here, she would be waiting for me on the other side. I have been going through her papers and I found a letter to me to be opened after her death. It was a long letter but the most important line was “if I precede the Old Vet (my Daddy, her husband of 78 years, WWII) in death please take care of him until he can be with me again.”

My Dad is in Assisted Living in the same facility where my Mother was in Memory Care. He was able to visit and sit with her until a few hours before her death.

Since March 6, I have only seen Mama twice, limited to masked, social distanced and outside. Because of the dementia, I feel as if I lost Mama in pieces, but ironically the last time I saw her during a trip in September, she knew who I was and we had a pleasant if limited conversation.

I had started sending her a card every week, telling her that I loved her and would see her soon. We were planning to be here, in Georgia, for Christmas and Daddy’s 100th birthday. The last one was in her room, unopened.

This past few weeks have been a time for reflecting on the loss and what COVID took away from Mama and Daddy and all of us.

I am at Peace with the events of the last year.

Thank you, Anton, for showing Gramma what it means to actively miss someone.

Today, I am missing my Aunts, Uncles, Grandmas, Cousins and friends who have gone before. But most of all, I am missing the Mama I knew before the disease took so much from her. I will continuously and actively miss the talented, beautiful Mama I remember.

I AM missing you, Mama. I will see you on the other side.

It is a beautiful day in Phoenix. It was a cool night and I walked with Patrick and Winston early this morning. The cool air was refreshing and because I am old enough now to be considered eccentric, I walked in my PJ pants which have pockets and hearts on them and an Alabama hoodie. Patrick and I have a running joke about pockets…and the pure joy of pajama pants that have them! Probably, wearing the ‘Bama hoodie would qualify me to wear PJ pants even if I were not eccentric.

We had coffee and checked the news before we walked and it is strange to read what a mess the big world is, when my little world is very calm.  It was quiet, except for roofers working and a barking dog inside a house who must have smelled Winston going by. 

I continue to struggle to try and stay positive.  I feel like Diogenes, holding a lantern, looking for an honest man.  I know I have many blessings and many reasons to be grateful.  I periodically write in a gratitude journal, but somedays, I just don’t make the effort. 

It is difficult on many days to keep my emotions under control.  Frustrations continue and it seems my “to do” list continues to grow and nothing is getting marked off. 

I am involved on a daily basis with my super elderly parents.  My Dad will be 100 in December and it hurts to know he and my Mother are under “shelter in place” (more like lock down) in an assisted living facility in Georgia.  My oldest Son, Daughter in Law and Children, continue to make the day trip once a week from Gadsden AL for a 45 minute socially distanced, masked meeting and to make sure Granddaddy and Grandma have anything they need or want.  My Mother lives in memory care in the same facility as my Dad and fortunately they still let my Dad visit her.  I am sure it must be very confusing to her as to why her beloved Grandson and family cannot hug her or hold her hand.   

Meanwhile, here in Phoenix, I am trying to arrange yet again to get them moved to a facility closer to family.  I had made arrangements for them to move to Phoenix when COVID hit in March.  Now, I do not see that as a possibility.  I have another option, but the criteria and timing is extremely difficult because of COVID restrictions and the fact I am not there. 

It is extremely difficult to get any answers from anyone on anything.  It seems COVID’s impact has slowed everything to a crawl and some things are just impossible! 

I continue to work on getting my Dad’s VA pension.  I started the process several times previously, but started in earnest last September (2019).  My Dad did not want to pay the $6K-$10K to hire an attorney to help with the process, so I decided to pursue it on my own.  Over a year later, we are still submitting forms and are in the queue for the third time for approval.  During this time, I have had to file supplemental claims on the original to update information.  

I did contact four US Senators (two from Arizona and two from Georgia) and one did respond and has been of some help.  Unfortunately, free help that is available has to be initiated in person by my Dad and he is unable to do so without someone there to take him to the VA or the VFW and work with them in person.  Like everything else, trying to manage their affairs from 1800 miles away with no one being able to go in his apartment to find documentation or have him sign papers makes the process just that much more complex. 

Due to COVID the VA and the Federal Records has slowed to a crawl.  I was notified through the VA that they needed a certified copy of my Dad’s DD214, Army discharge papers.  This has to be ordered from the US Government Records Department.  I ordered this in March and was told it could take up to six months to get it.  I still have not received it.  I was told a couple of weeks ago that the VA had ordered the DD214 as well, but the records department had been closed due to COVID so they could not obtain it either.  They requested that we send any copy that we had for them to review.   

Now the part of this that is ludicrous, is that my Dad has been getting VA Health Benefits for the past thirty years, including Doctor Visits, prescriptions and hearing aids.  I am sure “somewhere in Washington, enshrined in some little folder, is a study in black and white of” my Dad’s DD214.  (I can never resist a quote from “Alice’s Restaurant”) and that the VA cannot get a certified copy either! 

However, with the assistance of Brian and Michelle, we were able to get a copy of the one in Dad’s file in his apartment and I have submitted it for consideration.  I could have submitted it a year ago, but I was told it was not acceptable because it was a copy, but I have recently been told they may be able to accept it.  I am continually honing my skills of hitting a moving target! 

And then there is the current political situation.  I am an Independent and have been most of my life. I do occasionally associate with a political party to vote in a primary, but as soon as the Primary is over, I change back to no party affiliation.  I cannot identify with either party totally.  I struggle with the situation that my family, friends and acquaintances cover all ground from Left to Right.  These are people I love and respect and I know have good hearts.  I considered not voting at all in this contentious election, but promised to do so to people on both sides.  Only one person I voted for (National, State and City) is winning thus far, so I am not sure I accomplished anything.  I can say, I researched, listened to both sides and voted my conscious and with my heart.  It is upsetting for me to see the hate and the untruths from both sides.  It is probably best that I not discuss politics here or in person.  It is awkward and unsettling.  Everything seems so temporary and unresolved.  

This is not where I thought I would be at this point in my life; right now it is frustrating but there is still a lot of good.  My Daddy would tell us when we were kids “if you have a roof over your head, food on the table and a car in the driveway” you have it made.  I have all those things and at 71, I have outlived the three score and ten Bible limit (which my Dad also quotes) so I will continue on with my lantern, looking for honest men…and women. 

Peace and Love, 

Linda

Musings on Road Trips taken and yet to go.

Almost as important as the cars as I have loved are the road trips through the years. My earliest recollection of road trips are with my parents and my brother. We took a vacation every year by car. Although technically road trips involve multiple days, the one day road trips are also noteworthy. 

The family vacations of my childhood were most often camping trips in North Carolina a couple of times even up into Virginia on the Blue Ridge Parkway or trips to Daytona Beach in Florida, sometimes with a stop in St. Augustine.

The camping trips were truly road trips. On the Blue Ridge Parkway, we would stop along the way to take advantage of the hiking and sightseeing. Mama usually packed a picnic basket and a cooler and we ate in roadside parks. I don’t remember a specific car on these trips (I vaguely remember Daddy’s “fine automobile” the ’54 Chevy) but I do remember Crabtree Meadows, Mount Mitchell, Grandfather Mountain and Blowing Rock. We slept in a tent on cots and sleeping bags. Frequently these trips involved extended family including my aunts, uncles, cousins and grandmother.

I liked the trips to Daytona Beach. It was so different from our everyday life.  I was always sad to start the trip home. I would refer to it as “going through the mirror.” It was almost like a dream. I do remember specific trips in Big Red, the ‘59 Plymouth Fury. We would get up very early in the morning to leave the house in Suburban Atlanta by 5 am. We were trying to beat the heat. Our first stop was in Macon, Georgia at the Waffle House where we ate breakfast. What a treat! We didn’t eat out for breakfast very often. Then we were back on the road headed south. 

This was a time when there were very few interstate highways and we made our way through hot sticky South Georgia. We had all the windows rolled down, no Air Conditioning and literally blew our way to Florida. As we approached small Southern towns, we had to slow down. It was an all day trip and by the time we got there we were all grouchy, hungry and soaked with sweat. Years later my mother would laugh and say “we thought we were having fun!”

I wasn’t a very good traveler; I didn’t like to ride. Mama and Daddy tried to keep me entertained. We always had maps in the car. The paper ones you got from gas stations. The ones that once unfolded were never folded correctly again. I would ride in the backseat and Daddy would designate me as the navigator. I would unfold the map and calculate the distance until the next small town. If you remember, the old paper maps had small numbers in different colors that represented the distances between towns. I learned to add them up and we would check the odometer to see if my calculations were correct. We would also count cars of different colors, identify cars (which may be why I am sometimes better at identifying older cars from the rear) and check license plates.

And then there was the special day that I could drive. Daddy allowed me to drive on trips, even with just a Learner’s Permit. By that time my brother was gone and it was just Mama and Daddy and me. Mama would sometimes ride in the backseat, I would drive and Daddy would sit up front.  Then I started to enjoy time on the road. Daddy and I would play “car” games. He would take out his pocket watch tell me to hold my speed and we would check the mile markers. We would then calculate the time and check to see if the speedometer was correctly calibrated. Daddy taught me how to pass on a two lane highway (how to see the headlights of the car I was passing in the rearview mirror before I pulled back over), how to use the side mirrors, figure the mileage and later how to pump gas.  My Daddy never put less than a full tank of gas in his cars and figured mileage with every fill up.

In 1989 Bill, Beau and I moved to New Mexico. Brian was in college in Alabama. For the next 11 years there were frequent road trips to Georgia which Beau labeled as the “friendship tour.”  These trips were in my ’88 Buick LeSabre and my ’94 (I think) Cadillac Eldorado and one or two in the Red Car (my ’99 Corvette Coupe.) It was a two day trip, going we stopped somewhere East of Dallas.  Sometimes on the return trip we made it past Dallas the first day.  The Buick was a true road trip car, comfortable, well powered and easy to drive.  The Eldorado was fun to drive and FAST, but it always rattled.  It struck me as odd that a car that was supposed to be a luxury car was so noisy!

The Corvette was fun to drive on Road trips, but on busy Interstate Highways (like I-20 and I-40) I didn’t like driving the ‘Vette with all the trucks.  It was much more fun on a less traveled highway and back roads.

I have driven over Monteagle, Monarch Pass in the snow and Raton Pass.  I have crossed the Mississippi River in Vicksburg and in Memphis, seen large wind farms in the west and driven over Hoover Dam.

There were many road trips including Roswell to Memphis, Chattanooga and Orlando, from Colorado Springs in the Red Car to Mt. Rushmore to Telluride and to Phoenix and from Phoenix as co-driver to Monterrey in Patrick’s Grand Sport, to San Diego in the Jeep and to Colorado Springs again in the Grand Sport, the scenic route.

After I moved to Colorado, I bought my 2005 Jeep Liberty which I still have. Many memorable road trips in “Heap.”  Including a planned two day return trip from visiting my parents for Christmas in Acworth, Georgia to Colorado Springs which turned into five days.  My friend, Linda S (she had ridden with me to Conway, Arkansas to visit her family for Christmas), Muttley J Dawg and I were trying to outrun a blizzard and we didn’t make it.  

A special shout out and thanks to the Oklahoma Highway Patrol for rescuing Linda S and I and leading us to Boise City, to the people of Boise City for providing shelter and soup and coffee at the Church, to the Oklahoma Highway Patrol who lead us out of Boise City in a caravan on closed roads, when power, water and gas were gone; to the Officer organizing the caravanfrom Boise City to Guyman, who put Linda, Me and Muttley J Dawg right behind him because we were the only two women travelling alone, to the Hotel Clerk in Liberal, Kansas who called around and found us the next to last Motel room, to Corvette Friends who let us spend New Year’s Eve with them in Lakin, Kansas when the roads closed again.

On other road trips, thanks to the Waffle House in Jackson, MS for being open on Christmas Day, to the Clerk at the Convenience Store/Gas Station outside Tupelo, who made a fresh pot of Coffee for me and Muttley J Dawg when we stopped to gas up on a cold rainy Christmas Eve and to the Sheriff in Ridgeway, Colorado who saw me looking at a map and stopped to help.  A smile remembering the kids (probably about eight years old) in Romeroville, New Mexico who had never seen a Corvette when Muttley J Dawg, Stubbi the travelling cat and I stopped for gas.  They asked very politely if they could look at my beautiful car and I asked if they wanted to sit in it.  By the time, I had gassed up, walked the dog and cat and gotten a snack, there was a crowd gathered and they wished us well and waved as we left.

A special thanks to my friends and family who have participated in road trips over the years.  

There are still two road trips I want to make – Miami to Key West (which Patrick and I had planned for this fall until COVID) and the Pacific Coast Highway. I hope that soon I will be out on the road again, with the music blaring and seeing places I have never seen and meeting people along the way.  Not ready to park it just yet.

If you hear Gladys Knight “Midnight Train to Georgia”, Canned Heat “Going up the Country”, Rascal Flats “I’m Movin’ On”, Charlie Daniels “Uneasy Rider”, Prince “Little Red Corvette”, Alabama “Christmas in Dixie”, Little Feat “Willin’”or Johnny Cash “Folsom Prison Blues” blasting as you pass a car, slow down and look, it might be me.

It’s been a Helluva Ride (Drive)!

Love and Peace,

Linda

A Corvette friend, Mark, frequently posts on Facebook about Road Trips, Cars, Music and Music Trivia. We are about the same age and as Cars and Music are two of my interests as well, I enjoy his posts.  Last night I saw a post from him about favorite Road Trip Playlist song and I decided to comment.  

I was making a comment on his post. For the last twenty or so years, my favorite road trip music would have to be “Midnight Train to Georgia”. I replied in a whimsical way referencing my two road trip companions of the early 2000’s, Muttley J Dawg and Stub R Cat aka Stubbi the Traveling Cat. Both crossed the Rainbow Bridge some years back, but they are forever linked to “Midnight Train to Georgia” and Road Trips.

As I finished typing my response, I suddenly remembered the 8 Track Player and Canned Heat “Going up the Country”…at that point there was no going back.  The memories began to flood my brain.

I have always loved Cars.  I am Southern and growing up in Metropolitan Atlanta, cars were part of the Culture as well as my Heritage.  My extended family were all “car guys”.  My Daddy and my Brother are Car Guys and they were some of the earliest influences.

As I think about cars I loved and all of the car stories of my life, I realize that from my earliest memories cars are a common thread that continues today. Many pleasant memories and defining moments in my life, are linked to a particular car. My car heritage started even before I was born. I was going thru some papers for my Dad last year and found a hand written list he had made of all the cars he had ever owned. It was in his important papers!

My Mother would tell the story of how my brother, Pat, was just a toddler and would talk about “caw-ba-wa-tors”; apparently my Dad, always the tinkerer and fix it person, was known to work on his carburetor on the kitchen table, when my brother was a baby.

My parents named their favorite cars and I remember “Big Red”, “Frankie”, “The Box” and “Eloise”.

Daddy’s all-time favorite car was a 1954 Green and Cream Chevrolet, Bel Air, 2 door hard top, he referred to it as a “fine automobile” and probably still does.   His heart was broken when he was hit head on a Monday morning on his way to work and the car was totaled.  We went to the junk yard to mourn its passing and Mama and I cried.  For Mama to cry in front of me, it made me realize this was really, really sad and I cried too.  Daddy’s “fine automobile” was all crumpled and its front end was crunched down in the muddy junk yard.

My Daddy bought a 1959 Red Plymouth Fury after his fine automobile was wrecked.  Mama loved that car and named it “Big Red”.  It was fast and sporty.  Daddy taught me to drive in the Plymouth and I took my driver’s test in it.  When I see them now and how big it was, I am amazed that I was able to pass the driving test!  “Hell hath no Fury…like a Plymouth.”  

At that time, cars did not always have side mirrors and Daddy thought he should add one.  He bought the mirror and decided he would install it.  Daddy was meticulous and always measured, planned, talked about, measured again…before he actually began the task at hand.  At the time, Daddy did not have a drill.  Unlike today, not everyone had power tools.  Uncle Larry had a drill and was good at fixing anything.  Daddy called and asked his brother-in-law if could bring his drill over and install the mirror.  Larry was always accommodating and happy to help his family.  He came over with the drill.  Daddy was busy measuring, inspecting, discussing, planning and Larry said “I think it should go right here” and popped the holes in the car!  Legend has it, Daddy almost fainted.  Of course, Larry knew what he was doing and it was perfect.  Years afterward, Daddy would tell the story and laugh at himself.

Two of my earliest memories of cars being exciting and beautiful are vague, so I must have been very young, maybe five or six.  The first is of a Black Ford Crown Victoria. Probably around 1955, I remember seeing them on the street and we (Mama, Daddy, Pat and me) would point them out and talk about them.  I was very small and was with my Daddy at some type of gathering.  It was probably an extended family gathering as those made up a large part of our outings.  Someone had a Crown Victoria and Daddy asked me if I wanted to go for a ride.  I was excited and of course I wanted to ride in it!  I remember being in the car and I felt very small, but very important, in the back seat!  I have asked my Brother, Pat, if he remembers and he doesn’t.  I don’t remember him being there at the time, but the memory of the car is so vivid, I am sure it really happened.  The other memory is similar.  I was with Daddy and someone there had a convertible (Pat remembers my Uncle Bob having a Yellow 1949 Plymouth Convertible, so that may have been it) I was taken for a ride, and it was a thrill.  

My Uncle Ed and Aunt Jennebelle were quite hip in their day.   Uncle Ed had a 1953 MG TD, it was British Racing Green.  On Saturday afternoons, he would come to our house on Parker Avenue and take Pat and me for a ride.  We frequently rode to Mathis Dairy.  When my cousin Mark was born, the MG was sold and a 59 Chevy Wagon replaced it.  According to Uncle Ed “when you have a boy, you have to have a wagon.”

My Uncle Bob and Aunt Colleen and my cousin Joe moved to Birmingham in 1959.  Joe is an only child, one of the twelve Parish cousins and one of the Famous Five (four of my Parish cousins and I were born between July 4, 1948 and January 31, 1949.  I am the youngest and the only girl of the five).  Uncle Bob was an avid stock car racing fan, and when transistor radios came out, Bob always had the single headphone in his ear on race day, if he was not there in person.  The Parish Cousins, particularly the famous five, would visit Birmingham in shifts in the summer time.  I look back and wonder if I had been Colleen and Bob would I have been as welcoming to a summer of nieces and nephews coming and going.  At their house, there was so much laughter and fun, but also work.  Uncle Bob would leave chores for us.  Like sweeping the driveway or washing the dishes.  We did the chores gladly, because the rewards were great.  Uncle Bob had rules…one I remember is “you never stand in line to spend money.”

Two summer trips are particularly memorable.  

A favorite trip to Birmingham, was on a Cousin swap out.  My cousin Steve had been visiting Joe and my Uncle Harry and Aunt Beverly were driving me over and picking up Steve.  They had a 1962 Red Chevy Impala Hardtop.  (In 2016, my brother Pat, Patrick and I went to Barrett Jackson in Phoenix.  It was a fantastic time with my brother as we went down memory lane as we walked through the cars.  When we saw a red 62 hardtop, we looked at each other and said “Uncle Harry”, we took our picture in front of it.)

Beverly told me later that for the entire trip I entertained them hanging over the front seat and chattering.  I had been to Colleen and Bob’s several times and they were counting on me to find the house.  They knew generally where it was and we were riding around with them asking is this the right street?  No GPS, no Google Maps, no cell phones.  While I have always been good at looking at a map and finding places on the map, translating that into driving down actual streets has sometimes, been a problem.  We kept circling around until I looked up and there it was!

Another summer, my cousin Dale, her brother Danny and I were all going to visit Birmingham at the same time.  Our parents decided we could go alone on the train.  What an adventure!  When it came time to go home, my brother Pat was to pick us up and drive us back to Atlanta.  He had a 55 Chevy Delray.   Pat was the oldest of the Parish Cousins and he was deemed responsible enough to get us home.  We stopped along the way to buy a snack.  It was boys in the front, girls in the back.  Danny bought a Zagnut Bar and we were back on the road.  It was summertime, no air conditioning so we were on the open road with all of the windows down.  Danny, in the front passenger seat, opened the Zagnut Bar and it must have been old, because it was mostly dust and blew all over Dale and me in the back seat.  We were all yelling and laughing!

Dale and Danny’s Dad, my Uncle Ben, was a Chrysler/Plymouth man.  He loved the big station wagons with the rear facing seats.  Many a time on family outings with them, Dale, Danny and I were in the rear facing seat, Danny and I being clowns for the cars behind us!  Dale was a little older and more subdued, but she always laughed with us.

After the 55 Chevy, my brother had a 57 Chevy and then a 57 Corvette.  When I met Bill Beyerle, he had a 57 Corvette and thus the love of Corvettes started.  My brother even took my friend Kay and me to a drag race, three of us in his 57 Vette.  We were about fifteen and we thought we were hot stuff!

My first car was a 1961 Karmann Ghia Convertible.  I bought it myself.  Daddy was a firm believer, if you wanted a car, you got a job and earned the money, and you paid Cash!  No payments, if you didn’t have the cash, you didn’t need the car!  I went to work as a junior in High School for Southern Bell Tel and Tel and deposited most of my check into a Savings Account.  Daddy found the Karmann Ghia, I think from an ad in the paper and he and I went to see it.  I had $200 Cash and we bought the car on the Spot.  Daddy wrote the check and I paid him the cash.  

I named it the “Sopwith Camel” and frequently it was just the “Camel.”  I was 17 years old, an honor student, working and had a cool car.  It was 1966 and Life was good!

And so begins my love affair with cars I owned and co-owned.  In addition to the Sopwith Camel, there was a 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner (co-owned with Bill).  We ordered it and waited until it came.  It was a beast!  When we picked it up and took it to show it to Mama and Daddy, Daddy’s first reaction was “Why does that car have a chicken on it?”  And so, it became the “Chicken Car”.  Sometime in the early 80’s Bill and I bought a 1965 GMC Camper Special off a used car lot in Kennesaw, Georgia.  It was a “three on the tree” and we could all four ride on the bench seat, even with Beau in the baby seat.  We named it “Buck the Truck”.  In 1998, I ordered a 1999 Chevrolet Corvette, Torch Red Coupe, Six Speed, “the red car”, it was my midlife crisis and my rebellion car!  These have all been sold, several to friends or family.  But I currently have my 2005 Jeep Liberty, with over 140K miles.  “Heap” continues to serve me well after 14 years and although, I frequently contemplate a newer car or truck, I find it hard to part with it!  There have been a good many other cars along the way, but these are the ones that had names and to which I continue to have an emotional attachment.  

To be continued…

(Content as I remember, while this is more of an emotion based musing, if you remember it differently, let me know.  Also any details you can add to the story where my memories are a little hazy, please do.)

Love and Peace, Linda.

My Daddy’s communication has always been brief and to the point.  When I was younger and was disappointed, mad, frustrated or just disgusted, his reply was “You gotta take the bad with the good”

He had a plethora of sayings that he used frequently.  Some of them serious, some funny and some true!

I am more prone to discuss, cry, agonize, dissect and search endlessly for the perfect resolution.  

The last few years, I have realized that while my Daddy’s answers were not the answers that I wanted, many times they succinctly summarized not only the best way to deal with things but in the end the only way.

Daddy will be 100 years old in December.  He had a stroke, almost a year ago and after rehab moved to Assisted Living.  My Mother moved to Memory Care in the same facility.  They both have done the best they can in the current situation and so have I.

They are eighteen hundred miles away from me, but efforts to move them closer to me always seem to fall apart.  This time, it was COVID.  I was making arrangements to move them to a facility about a mile from my house.  Deposit was paid, paperwork in progress and then COVID hit.

Of course, there was no way I could move them in the middle of a Pandemic, so all plans were put on hold.  Not knowing when or how the current situation will resolve, I have no idea if it will be possible for them to move when the COVID restrictions loosen up.

I have been in “Stay at Home” mode since I returned on March 6, from a visit with my parents.  Patrick and I did rent a cabin in Strawberry for a couple of days in early June, but it was disappointing.  State Park Hiking trails were closed and because of fire danger we could not grill as anticipated.

In the beginning of the pandemic, I was acting as our Purchasing Manager, trying to source things we needed for delivery or pickup. We had a few mistakes, like a grocery delivery we waited on for a week only to get two cans of soup, everything else was out of stock on a $100 order. I also ordered Toilet Paper from Amazon only to find it was a fraudulent vendor, but Amazon was good to refund my money.

We changed to grocery pick up, when slots became more available, and also continued to do some Home Chef meals.  Patrick has always advocated for keeping a good supply of paper products and other essentials, so we have done well in keeping everything supplied.  We are now really good at on line ordering for pick up or delivery and have adapted very well to the new “Un” Normal.

I have been busy during this time and am not sure how I ever had time to go anywhere.

Since last September, I have been working on VA Benefits for my Dad, a WWII vet.  For anyone who hasn’t dealt with the VA, it is quite an experience.  We had tried multiple times to get Daddy to apply and once, my brother, Pat even got him to talk to a VA rep but it just didn’t progress.  I investigated hiring an attorney (which most people do from what I understand) but Daddy would have no part of that.  

So I decided last fall to fill out the papers and give it a try.  I am now on my third iteration of submitting documentation.  There have been delays and faux pas, but I think I have made progress.  Whether he will ever be approved remains an unknown, but I have tried.

I found that you can get “free” help from organizations like the VFW but that requires going to a VFW rep in Georgia…and I am in Phoenix.  And so I press on.  Unfortunately, the VA will only reply to claims by mail and it has to go to the Veteran.  We had a couple of delays when Daddy lost a letter and when he held onto a “packet” of forms for at least a week before he finally gave it to someone to get it to me.

I have a huge packet to submit in the next week or so.  I am waiting on one document that is being mailed to me.  It has now become a challenge to me to see just how long it takes for a definitive “yes” or “no”.

Our home improvement projects continue. We finished painting the kitchen cabinets and added new hardware in March. Patrick worked on the last part of it while I was in Georgia and then we finished up when I got home. It took us several months to complete but it really looks good and brightened up the kitchen.

I bought a desk and set up an office for me in the breakfast room.  Patrick has a desk in the little bedroom with his computer.  We both work in our offices every day.  

I decided to take an on line class in March.  I have now finished a six week class on Relationships and Needs from University of Toronto and a ten week class on “The Science of Well Being”from Yale…so much for self-improvement.  I started my third class this week, studying Fashion as a form of Art and how it influenced History.  This is from the Museum of Modern Art.  Patrick has even signed up for a couple of classes.

I have tried to grow a container Herb Garden but I have to count that one as a failure.  I bought pots, dirt, plants and seeds.  The seeds sprouted but soon died, so I though too much heat, sun, not enough water.  So I bought one of the herb kits that has soil and plants and started them inside.  Same result, seeds sprouted and then one by one died.  I still have one small survivor from the second try and am still watering it.  I have three herb plants that I bought which have survived but two of them are a little rough.  I think I will try again in the fall.  I have always had flowers and sometimes vegetables, but I haven’t been very successful in the desert climate.  I do have some cactus plants and a decorative palm in large pots that grow well.

We have sold our kitchen table and chairs, which was too big for our breakfast room, especially after I added the desk, and I have bought new dishes and a new smaller table.  I have chairs ordered and they should be here next week.  Two of us living in a small space and being confined has shown that we need to make the house more functional.  We have cleaned out a lot…I hate clutter…and will continue to do so.

I spent a week completely off social media.  I do occasionally look at Instagram and Facebook but very limited.  I also have limited News that I read or watch.  I find that focusing on my little world and eliminating a lot of the “noise” from the outside world helps.  I was given a gratitude journal and have had some success in writing in it, but must admit, it is not yet a habit and more of a hit or miss.

Our Garbage disposal went out.  We were cleaning up supper dishes one night and water started running out the cabinet under the sink.  I convinced Patrick we could replace it and he ordered a new one and picked it up.  Wasn’t quite as easy as I had hoped as I had to do the inside the cabinet part because Patrick didn’t fit!  It took a couple of tries and a last minute run to Home Depot for plumbing parts but it is in and working…and we have resolved all the leaks.

With our neighbors next door we built a wall with a view fence between our houses…rather we had it built, we shared the painting chore.  It is something Patrick and I have wanted to do since we moved in.  Our front door is on the side of the house and so is the neighbors and they face each other.  We both wanted some division.  Patrick did most of our part of the design and engaging someone to lay the block.  Our neighbor found the fence guy and had that installed.  We are all very pleased and of course, we think it increases the value of our homes by at least thousands!

I am completing another home improvement project.  I pulled out all of the old rotted expansion joint material around the front door and replaced it.  Still have some sealing to do, but almost complete.

As we approach the five month mark of staying at home, I am reflecting on the victories, the disappointments, the work and the boredom.  I am grateful for my health, my family and my friends.

Patrick and I have done well.  We are both headstrong, loud, control freaks but maybe we are starting to mellow a little or maybe not.

But after all “you have to take the bad with good”. 

I am hoping for all of you that your good far outweighs your bad.  In writing this, I know mine does.

Peace and Love,

Linda

Tonight, June 5, 2020, at 6:00 pm, I will be logging out, deactivating and/or deleing Social Media accounts and applications, including Next Door, Facebook and Instagram.

I will also be limiting the reading and watching of News.

During the next five days, I plan to read, research, contemplate, study and meditate, including keeping a gratitude journal and formulating a plan to take action to make a difference in my community and the world.

It is important to me to quiet the noise of social media to evaluate how best to achieve inner peace as well as contribute toward peace in my community, our nation and the world.

The world events of the last several months, events in my personal life and on line courses I am taking are leading me to re-evaluate my purpose, my values and my abilities.

For anyone who would like to discuss my journey, please contact me via email, messenger, text or call.

To my friends, neighbors, family and fellow citizens of the world, I value your life, your thoughts and your struggles. I will continue my quest to understand and empathize with those that are physically different, hold different beliefs and whose circumstances are different than mine.

Years ago, in English Lit class I was required to memorize the following poem. It is something I have held on to thru the years. It continues to speak to me.

Stay safe and be kind.

Love and Peace,

Linda

If

By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!