Barbie Perkins-Cooper, Author

Category: Family

  • Reminiscing on July 6 of Each Year…

    Reminiscing on July 6 of Each Year…


    Dearest Readers:

    July 6 is always a day to remember for me. Why? Allow me to explain. During the stressful days of my dad’s terminal illness with esophageal cancer during December 1997 until his death on July 6, 1999, I have felt such a loss.

    I’ve had people tell me I need to move on. “Get over it. Life goes on…” Etc. ETC! It isn’t easy! Tomorrow is July 6, 2014 – exactly 15 years since the death of my dad. I remember the day, as if it was yesterday. After a demanding day at work, I rushed to visit him, like I did every day. I spoke to the nursing home earlier in the day. “Dad was doing fine,” they replied. “Fine!?!” If he’s in a nursing home he isn’t fine. Yes, he was as well as could be expected; nevertheless, over the last six months of his life, I watched his body slowly shutting down. First it was the weakness from esophageal cancer. His inability to retain his food. His legs grew weaker and he fell – LOTS. Each time the nursing home reported the falls to me, like they are required. And each time, I prayed a sigh of relief. Just one more day. Please God, give us one more day.

    In March, his heart grew weaker, and I realized the end was near. I stopped praying for a miracle. In my nightly prayers I prayed for God to find a special place for my dad, to use his talents, his voice, and yes – even his temper. Dad could be a tenacious man when he wanted to be!

    During my daily visits after March, I noticed Dad no longer walked me to the door, to kiss me goodbye. He simply waved his hand as he closed his Holy Bible. No longer were the visits welcoming or fun. He appeared to be angry at me, always waving me away after about 10 minutes of our time together. His roommate told me Dad was mean to me. “You deserve better,” Dudley said. “He is so mean. He should appreciate you.”

    I smiled at Dudley. “Don’t you understand,” I cried. “Dad is dying. He’s angry at life.”
    Dad and Dudley were the odd couple of Sandpiper Convalescent Center. They teased and complained, always trying to compete with each other. For a while, Dad had the upper hand since Dudley’s body no longer moved and he remained in the bed, or a special wheelchair. Dudley had difficulty with speech too, but after visiting Dad so often, Dudley and I were able to communicate without a problem. After March, Dudley had the upper hand as we watched Dad sit on his bed, or remain in his bed most of the time. Gone were his daily strolls with his walker.

    I suppose I was counting the days down, knowing my dad and I would not share another holiday together. No more birthday parties. No more Christmas trees, Thanksgiving and holiday dinners together. Tick. Tock…How I wish I could make this clock stop and save my dad.

    On the moment of his death, I was walking in the corridor of Sandpiper Convalescent Center. A nurse I recognized approached, pushing an oxygen tank. I remember speaking with her, saying Uh, oh. That isn’t a welcoming sign for someone. She nodded, never saying a word to me.

    I placed my hand on the door of Dudley and Dad’s room and so did the nurse. Quickly, she nodded, telling me not to come inside.

    I screamed.

    “Oh, Dear God, No. Please…please….Please God, NO!” I cried.

    Someone grabbed me, walking me to a chair and I sat down. I knew. The clock was stopping. My dad way dying.

    I heard a voice say, Barbie. We can bring him back.

    “No,” I cried. “He’s a DNR. I must honor his wishes.”

    Moments seemed like hours. At 6:15 a nurse approached me. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to say goodbye?”
    Yes, I nodded.

    I waited a few minutes for my husband to arrive and together, we walked in to Dad’s room. Dudley was eating dinner. I could not speak to him. I touched my Dad – his body as cold as ice. His skin clammy. His eyes closed. I kissed him. Told him I loved him and I would never forget him. “You’re still here, inside my heart,” I cried.

    I have no idea what happened next. I was numb. Dumbfounded. How would I live without my Dad?
    After his funeral, I joined a grief therapy session and learned to move forward. Still, as the day of July 6 of each year approaches, I feel an incredible emptiness. Grief. Heartache. I ask myself, will this pain ever leave?

    I think not. July 6, 2014 is only hours away. I must keep myself busy, remembering my Dad, Walter W. Perkins, and the goodness inside of him. Yes, he had moments of temperamental ups and downs, but he was my dad. As a child, I always looked up to him. I held his hand. We sang. He taught me how to harmonize and he always reminded me to “Make this a good day.”

    I ask you how? How do I make each day a good day without my dad?

    When do we stop grieving over those we’ve loved and lost? When does the heartache end?

    After my dad died, I felt like an orphan. I have learned to move on and to recognize that each day is a gift. I plan to have a serious heart-to-heart discussion with my dad in the morning while drinking my morning coffee. I will lift my head high, looking into the Heavens and speak softly to my Dad. Yes, I will probably cry, but now, the tears are good, cleansing tears because I have learned to move forward. To make the most of every day. July 6, 2014 is another day without my dad, but I am so thankful that I was there for him daily while he battled cancer. Yes, I miss you, Dad. I was blessed to share one more day.

    Thank you, God for giving us one more day!

  • Father’s Day 2014


    Dearest Readers:

    This Sunday, June 15, 2014 is Father’s Day. I am sharing a post below about Father’s Day. I hope you will enjoy and take the time to appreciate your father or husband or loved one.

    Today is a beautiful day in Charleston, SC. Blue skies, a slight breeze, and gorgeous bright sunshine. Today is truly a day of appreciation — for life, love, family and all that we in America are blessed with, especially on Father’s Day.

    To all the fathers, and the fathers-to-be, I would like to extend a blessed and loving Happy Father’s Day. My wish for you is that all of your children and wives will appreciate all that you are and will spoil you just a bit today. Let us all make the time to say, “Happy Father’s Day,” and to make the time to do something special for Dad. Even if it is only a short phone call to say, “Happy Father’s Day,” please make the time to express your love and appreciation.

    Father’s come in all shapes and sizes, all temperaments and there are times when father’s may not have the patience they need. Becoming a parent doesn’t come with a guide book of instructions, nor do we take classes for parenting. We simply become a parent, hoping we will make the right decisions.

    I lost my father on Tuesday, July 6, 1999. For two years I watched him fighting the debilitating disease of esophageal cancer. I watched his body slowly melting away from him. At first, he was robbed of health, then his strength and independence. Gone was the ability to eat food. His body was attached to a feeding tube, he commonly referred to it as his umbilical cord. He detested it! After his body refused to allow his independence to return, we admitted him to a convalescent center. He coped with his new residency, but was never happy there. Daily, I visited him. At first, he welcomed me with open arms. A few months before he died, he became angry, shouting at me…telling me to leave, and not to come back. His roommate said he was mean to me. “No,”I defended. “He isn’t mean. He just wants me to leave.”

    On July 4, 1999, I saw my dad for the last time. Walking into his room, he was sitting in a chair, reading his Bible. His head lifted to look at me, but he did not welcome me. He continued to recite Bible verses, telling me to ‘go on… get out of here. I don’t want you here.’

    Exhausted, I left in tears. On July 5, I returned to work. Working a bit late, I drove home, completely exhausted. Early in the morning of July 6, I awoke from a frightening nightmare. I suppose you could say, I have the gift (or wickedness) of visions. In this dream my dad was dying. I looked at the clock. It was 3:45 am. I reached for the phone. Dialed a portion of the phone number to the nursing home, stopped dialing, and hung up the phone. I did not go back to sleep.

    That day at work, I phoned the nursing home several times. I was told my dad was doing well, or ‘as well as to be expected.’ Before arriving for my visit, my dad took a fall. He was eating dinner when I arrived. Placing my hand on the door of his room, I met up with a nurse, with an oxygen tank by her side. She motioned for me to move away and not to come inside. I knew what was going on. I screamed.I looked at my watch. It was 5:45pm. Again, a vision I had was coming true!

    Standing next to my dad’s doorway, I listened to the actions of the nurses. They encouraged me to tell them to bring him back. I declined. “No,” I cried. “Just let him go with dignity.”

    The death certificate recorded his death at 6pm. In all reality, he died at 5:45, when I was about to enter his room. This year will be the 15th anniversary of his death. I no longer have a Father to wish “Happy Father’s Day.” Today, I will think of him, as I do every day. I will pray that he will enjoy today with his identical twin brother, his parents and other siblings and relatives. Yes, I miss him, but I know that he is in a better place…no longer attached to an umbilical cord, and now he can take his daily strolls and he can sing again.

    Happy Father’s Day to all of the special men I have been blessed to know in my lifetime. Many of you know who you are! As for me and my husband, I intend to take him to dinner and to spend the day with him. How I wish I could spend the day with my dad, and I wish I could spoil him a bit on Father’s Day. Let us all appreciate the fathers of the world. Let us share kindness and love to them. After all, we never know what tomorrow may bring. Happy Father’s Day with my thoughts, love and kindness! I am blessed to know many of you!

  • Br-r-r-r-r…But Baby It’s Cold Outside!


    Dearest Readers:

    But baby, it’s cold outside! It is Thursday morning. Normally, I rush to my Weight Watchers meetings on Thursday mornings; however, this Thursday morning is the exception.

    Why?

    Simple. I live in Charleston, SC — a city that markets itself as a city with ‘a mild climate.’ Mild climate? Are they nuts? It is 26 degrees outside this morning. My yard is still covered with spots of snow. Icicles are still on the mimosa tree. Yes, baby…it’s cold outside!

    For two days I’ve been inside the house striving to stay warm. Occasionally, I walk outside to feel the crisp, cold weather on my face. When it started raining with ice in the rain early Wednesday morning, I walked outside to feel it on my face. I wasn’t certain if it was rain, or ice, but when it dropped onto my head, I felt the ice. For two days, my husband has been home from work due to — ‘in-climate weather.’ Tuesday, nothing happened. Wednesday morning — excuse the expression, but all Hell broke loose and the City of Charleston was crippled. We, the residents of Mt. Pleasant, were crippled effective Tuesday evening at 8pm when the Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge closed. Moments later, the other bridge leading us out of Mt. Pleasant, the Don Holt Bridge, was closed.

    “The City of Charleston is all but crippled now,” I said to myself. “Only in Charleston!”

    Yesterday, I strove to write, only staring at my computer screen instead. I could not understand why the bridges were still closed. ‘Couldn’t they clear the roadbeds?’ Regardless, the roads to and out of Mt. Pleasant are crippled — still this morning. What an interesting day this will be!

    Yesterday, since my husband was home I recognized that he would interrupt my thoughts, my chores, my busy-ness constantly — and he did! Once, while staring at the computer screen, he rushed to my desk. A look of panic on his face. At first I thought ‘oh my…is he having a heart attack?’

    Nope. All is fine with his heart. To those of you who do not know, or understand my husband, let’s just say — he is blessed with a technical mind. Common sense? Definitely lacking.

    Yesterday, his emergency was due to a lacking of common sense. My husband is named Phil. As a child, it appeared to my observations that EVERY boy I met named Phil was either a geek, or a nerd! You guessed it — I married a “Phil,” and named my only child “Phillip!” DUH!

    Let me explain the scenario of yesterday. Phil rushed to my side, asking if I had a ‘moment.’

    “What now?”

    “Can you take these tiny tweezers and see if you can get something out of my ear?” He held the tweezers that looked more like a small jewelry tool to me.

    “What have you done?”

    “I was cleaning wax out of my ears and something broke off inside my ear.”

    “Let me guess. You used your eye glasses again, didn’t you!”

    Mr. Gifted Technology just doesn’t get it. Never do you use the tip of your eyeglasses to clean your ears!

    Phil grabbed his car keys. “Where are you going?” I asked.

    “I’m certain the bridge is open now. I need to get my ear checked.”

    “Arthur Ravenel Bridge is still closed. You will not be able to get out of Mt. Pleasant.”

    Phil ignored me, and off he went. About thirty minutes later he returned home. No medical facilities were open, and all of the bridges were closed still. He could not understand why the Ravenel Bridge was still closed. OK…Allow me to explain.

    The bridge is a twin tower structure, with cables! Wouldn’t icicles form on the cables? Yes, they could clear the roadbed, but do we actually expect someone to clean the cables, clearing them of the icicles…and IF a car drove over this bridge now…what would happen IF an icicle fell onto the car? Wouldn’t it work like an unguided missile?

    Just my observation, as a writer. You must understand…Mr. Gifted Technology thinks women do not have common sense, or brains! I’m happy to announce, HE IS MISTAKEN!

    At 3pm, the announcement was made that the Don Holt Bridge was open for traffic now. Phil decided he needed to get the tip of his eyeglasses out of his ear. He kept asking me to go with him. At 5pm, we left, driving across the Don Holt Bridge to I-26. Still, Phil could not understand why the signature bridge, Arthur Ravenel Bridge, wasn’t open. I decided to keep my thoughts to myself about my theory. He would never agree with me!

    When we arrived at the VA Hospital, everyone got a bit of a kick out of Phil’s reason for being there! Using the tip of your eyeglasses to clean wax from your ears???

    Yep! It makes sense to me…NOT!

    And to think, this man is a computer whiz! Whenever neighbors or friends need computer service, Phil is the one they call to fix the problems. He is gifted with computers and can always repair the problems I have with mine. Common sense???!!?

    Well, let’s just say, anyone who uses the tip of the eyeglasses to clean their ears needs a bit more in the common sense area! Eyeglasses are prescribed to assist eye sight, not to clean the ears.

    Phil is home again today. Due to the parking lot of traffic on Don Holt Bridge, he cannot make it to work. When he called, he was told, the power was out at the office, so just stay home.

    Joy! Another day with a man who insists on using eye glasses to cleanse the ears. I can only imagine what will happen today. We still have snow on the ground. The Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge has been closed since 8pm Tuesday night, and If I attempt to write, I am certain I will be interrupted again. I think the next time we have a threat of a ‘winter storm in Charleston, SC’ I will escape. I’ll keep that little secret to myself!

    Welcome to Charleston, SC — tourists… A city with mild climates? I’ll let the snow birds and tourists debate that statement. I’m still looking for spring!

  • To a New Year, New Beginnings, Goals and Promises – Learning to Move On


    Dearest Readers:

    My last post, Saturday, January 4, 2014 was written with a broken heart after we lost our precious Maltese, Shasta Daisy Shampagne. To say it has been a stressful, depressing and an almost unbearable week is an understatement. I have caught myself bursting into tears as the sea of grief rushes over me once again. Nevertheless, after losing many loved ones, friends, and family members, I recognize that life continues. Just because we have lost someone so special does not cause our lives to stop. We awaken in the morning. Demands of life still need attention. We still must pick up the pieces and “Move On!”

    I must say, I am a bit proud of myself and how I have dealt with the grief and emptiness that Little Miss Shasta Daisy left. Shasta lost the remainder of her eye sight last year. I am convinced she counted the steps to where the water bowls were, along with the pillow she loved to rest on. This pillow is located next to my desk. Daily, she curled her tiny body by the pillow, and when she was thirsty, never did she whine for me to carry her to the water bowl. She was a feisty and most independent little girl. She loved doing things her way! Today, her pillow and blankie rest by my desk. I haven’t found the courage to wash her pillow or the blankie. Our newest little boy, a Maltese, named Toby Keith has adopted the spot, pillow and blankie as his comfort zone. Funny. Never did he claim this territory as his until Monday of this week. We were blessed to be the foster parent of Toby in early December after Shasta became weaker and weaker. As I’ve written before, Shasta’s seizures became more violent in December. Christmas Day was her worst. The amazing thing about Shasta is after a seizure, after Phil and I decided we should consult with our vet once again about her, Shasta chose to prove to us that she was still our little energizer bunny. Mornings after she suffered a seizure, she would go outside to potty and to walk around the back yard, as if to say, “See…I’m OK!”

    We did not call the vet. I am convinced that little Miss Shasta Daisy chose to leave us on her terms — after she was certain we would be ok. Maybe she and Toby communicated, and maybe Toby convinced her that all would be OK. I am convinced animals communicate, to us, and to each other.

    So, while it is a New Year and we had to build new goals, promises and beginnings, I am learning to move on. Yes, I miss Shasta, and I certainly miss my precious Prince Marmaduke Shamus; although, our home is filled with the love of our precious four-legged children. Together, we strive to make each day a new and good day. Yes, at times, I am sad, but I am learning to work through the grief. After all, life continues.

    Today was my first day back at Weight Watchers after the holidays. Let’s just say, during the holidays I was a most naughty girl. Just before Christmas, I broke the plateau and I was so proud to accomplish that goal. Attending parties, I found myself craving Christmas cookies. I asked Phil to get us a few Christmas cookies and when he brought them home, I continued to eat and eat those blasted temptations until I was furious with myself. Then, I decided to do a bit of Christmas baking. My mistake! Going back to Weight Watchers, I hopped on the scales — gaining four pounds. I missed the next meeting — intentionally, and I continued to binge. No matter what I said to myself, I could not stop eating desserts.

    “It’s the holidays,” people said. “Enjoy yourself.”

    Thanks so much for your encouragement! Then I realized, I was the one out of control. After all, no one was forcing these delicacies on me, but myself! Naughty…NAUGHTY — OH SO NAUGHTY GIRL!

    Now, my scales were reading a 10 pound gain. I was ready to jump off the bridge I was so angry with myself. I had a serious talk with myself and hopped back on the treadmill. After all, if my life was spinning out of control and I was gaining weight, shouldn’t I jump on a treadmill to stop this craziness?

    Today was a good day. I am proud to say, the scales showed a loss of two pounds. Yes, even when life is spinning out of control and I am depressed from watching my precious friend Shasta fading away…even when I felt my life was losing its balance, I am happy to say, I have rejuvenated myself…after many tears and discussions at my special window. Today, I am moving on with life, goals, dreams and promises made to myself. Today is a new day. A new beginning. I have started the new year with a two pound loss! Thank you, Weight Watchers! This holiday season taught me something special. I have always been described as a strong, independent and opinionated woman. Yep. That is me. However, when a craving enters my brain, I become weak. Because of the weight gain, I have discovered that I must get back in control. I have lost 36 pounds, thanks to Weight Watchers. How many inches have I lost? I haven’t a clue, but my body is changing, along with my attitude about food. I must remember to be strong, independent and eat healthy. Yes, there will be times when I am tempted. At parties…dances…and other special events… Now, I must remember, I hold the key. I have the strength. I have the courage. After all, no one is spoon feeding me. When temptations occur, I will think twice! And then, I will think again…and AGAIN!

    Rest in peace, Little Miss Shasta Daisy Shampagne. You were such a blessing to rescue and to become such an amazing loving part of our family. Watching you and the determination you had taught me that life must go on and with each day, we must continue to make the most of each day…Just like you did, precious Shasta!

  • Communicating With My Precious Animals


    My silly pups. Prince Midnight Shadow, my cold black giant schnauzer rushes inside to brush against the leashes, hanging near my office. He is telling me he is ready to walk today. “Mommy,” he says, staring into my eyes. “It’s nice outside today. The heat will not burn my paws. Can we go for a walk later?” I smile. Nod at him. Now, he is resting by the leashes. And to think, I’ve actually been told that only a ‘crazy person would believe that dogs communicate and understand what we are saying to them.’ I smile, snickering to those people saying, “Maybe you are the crazy one…I communicate with my animals. They understand what I say, and they love me for communicating and understanding their needs.’ Like earlier this morning, when Hankster the Prankster, my smallest mini-schnauzer, raised up by my legs, wanting me to pick him up. He doesn’t like to be picked up. He’s always afraid that he might get hurt. It is so obvious that he was mistreated by someone. It doesn’t matter who mistreated him. All that matters now is he is not closed inside a crate where he was barking…barking…barking…at the top of his little lungs when I agreed to foster him. It doesn’t matter that someone raised their arms to him, ready to attack him. It doesn’t matter that he was dropped off at a kill shelter, to end his life. What does matter is this little guy has found a home that loves him, regardless of his demeanor, temperament, and personality. He is finally getting more comfortable with us, and he hasn’t snapped at my husband’s hands in a few days. That is an accomplishment for him. Although he is small, he is powerful and quick with his mouth. He defends me from everyone!

    Hank is unafraid and will protect his mommy, at all cost. He doesn’t care that something or someone could harm him. He cares about me and his home. That is, now that he has a home that accepts him and is teaching him he doesn’t need to snap at others. All he needs to do is trust. Today, when he raised up on my legs, he scratched his little paw on my leg, as if to say, ‘pick me up, Mommy.’

    “What’s the matter, little buddy,” I asked him? “Do you want Mommy to pick you up?” He growled. When he growls it is usually a warning to back off, but I carefully scoop him up in my arms. He grunts, placing his little salt and pepper fur next to me, then he cuddles next to my neck. This is something he has never done before. He rears back, to look into my eyes. “What’s the matter, Hankster? Are you finally saying how much you love me and this home?”

    He grunts again. I place him down. Moments later, he returns. He wants me to pick him up again, and so, I do. We talk for a bit without saying words. Our eyes stare into one another. He moans, moves his head close to my chest. He is telling me how much he loves me. My eyes fill with tears.

    Today is Wednesday, a day of remembrance for me. On Wednesday, May 2, 2012, I lost my precious Prince Marmaduke Shamus, also known as “Shamey-Pooh.” Wednesdays are still a sad day for me. Words cannot express how deeply my heart ached after losing Shamey-Pooh. A tsunami of grief appeared to wash over me, like a gigantic, rushing, angry tide and for weeks I wasn’t certain if I would survive. I did survive. The sun still rose in the morning, and set at night. Bills still needed to be paid, and Father Time continued to tick, tick, tick the minutes of life by. Still, my heart ache for the loss of Shamus continued, and that is when I decided to foster Hank, until Schnauzer Rescue of the Carolinas could find a suitable home. Hankster and I bonded, even after he left our home for an adoptive home. I dreamed about him on several occasions, dreaming he wanted to come back to us. That dream came true, like many of my dreams.

    Last October, Hankster returned. When I suggested allowing us to pick him up from his adoptive parents, some people were afraid he would not remember us. At first, he seemed aggressive, only to relax inside the car when he heard me singing. Silly dog. I think he remembered that I liked to sing. Arriving home, he rushed inside, to the water bowl, the toy box, and to greet our children. Hankster announced, “Hey guys, I’m back!”

    Today, Hankster communicated to me — as if to say — thank you! Snuggling next to me for a few minutes, he grunted, and then he brushed my face with a soft kiss, something he never does! Now, he is resting next to me, along with Shasta, and Sandy Bear. Hankster is home! It is such a beautiful, cooler day outside so I’ve decided a brisk walk with my babies will be more healing to me than a treadmill!

  • Caring For A Sick Baby — Our Little Maltese


    Dearest Readers:

    To those of you who read my blog regularly, you recognize what an advocate I am for animals, especially rescued dogs. We are the proud family with five dogs, four which are rescues. Yes, they are expensive to keep up and care for, but words cannot express how fulfilling it is to see them grow under our care. Last month, Shasta, our aging Maltese, and Shakespeare, our oldest mini-schnauzer had their wellness checkups. We were concerned about Shasta because she has a slight growth on her nose. Our vet checked it. According to the reports, she has a slight cancer of the nose, so we are treating it with a medication. We must administer the medication — two pills every three weeks – with gloved hands. Upon giving her the pills, mixed with peanut butter so she could swallow them easier, I could not help wondering if I had to wear gloves to administer the medication, just what would these pills do to a tiny less than seven pound Maltese. Last week Shasta received her second dosage. Yesterday, I noticed how lethargic she is, lying around, barely moving at all, and she refused to eat her food. Knowing she must have fluids, I managed to get her to lick ice chips. When my husband got home, I shared with him my observations of how weakened she is. He tried to coax her to eat. She turned her head, locking her mouth. At dinner time, I had leftover mashed potatoes. Phil scooped a few bites of mashed potatoes on a spoon, and Shasta opened her mouth to eat – a bit.

    Later, I noticed her blankets were soiled, so I placed fresh towels around a pillow so she could rest comfortably in the breakfast room. We managed to get her to drink ice chips again, deciding to leave her alone for the evening.

    This morning, Shasta went outside to potty, flopping down in exhaustion. I’ve spoken to the vet’s office and this was anticipated. They reassured me we are giving her the proper care and this too shall pass — just like it did with the first dosage. Gathering all of her blankets and bedding to wash them, I placed a pillow inside a plastic container, a nice red blanket over it (her favorite) and I have Shasta resting next to me while I write and do laundry. Frustrated that she would not eat or drink again, I gave her ice chips. She locked her mouth down once again.

    Earlier, for lunch, I decided I didn’t want to prepare anything time-consuming, so I made a fresh smoothie with bananas, yogurt, blueberries and strawberries. Shadow, my youngest, and most energetic giant schnauzer, loves yogurt. While I attempted to drink my smoothie, Shadow whined for his share. I poured a small amount into a bowl and he consumed it in moments. Now that he is outside, I decided to see if Shasta would drink a bit of smoothie. Pouring just enough to barely cover the bottom of the small bowl, I am pleased to announce, Shasta licked every bit of it and she is a bit more energetic now. Suppose it could be due to the storm and thunder brewing outside, but I suspect she is feeling just a tad better.

    Her nose is almost healed now, but I cannot help wondering — when an animal gets sick from medications that they must have, should we administer them? I suppose I am questioning the ‘quality of life’ for now…and I do feel a bit of guilt while recognizing that I was the one who gave her the pills that have weakened her tiny body so much. She looks up at me with weakened eyes that cannot see me since she is blind now and can only see bright shadows. It breaks my heart to see her so weak and I have prayed that God is guiding me to care for her properly.

    For today, she is enjoying her smoothie. If she wants more, you must believe her mommy will make certain she gets another one. We rescued Shasta in June 2005. She has blessed our lives with her sassy little demeanor and energy.

    Looks like I must cut this short. It is lightning outside. I must cut the computer off. I will share more updates about our sweet little “Shasta Daisy Shampagne…She is white, like a Shasta daisy…bubbly like champagne. Such a little princess. At the moment, she holds her head high. Shakespeare, our oldest schnauzer that must snoop his nose into everything, is sniffing at her, making certain all is AOK.

    More later, Readers — after the brewing storm!

  • So…You’ve Got an Opinion — Paula Deen


    Dearest Readers:

    This has truly been a melancholic week for me, first with the loss of a classmate and friend, Becki Vinson Matthews. Circular thinking has danced inside of my head, remembering how happy, energetic and full of life Becki was at our class reunion in April. Gone too soon, much too soon. I confess, I do have a difficult time with death. One moment we are laughing with a friend, making plans to ‘do lunch or shopping,’ only to awaken to the reality that the friend is no longer with us. Poof. In the blink of an eye…gone too soon.

    Yesterday, while listening to the morning news, I hear about Paula Deen. “What’s going on with Paula Deen now?” I ask, clicking on Google to read. By now almost everyone has an opinion about Paula Deen and her dreadful comments. Some of the reports on the Internet expressed that Deen said the N-word in 1986. Of course, I am not a believer of “if it’s on the Internet, it must be true.” Everyone can post things on the Internet, and sometimes they are hurtful and damaging, especially to a celebrity; nevertheless, I believe that IF you are a celebrity, you must conduct yourself in a respectful, moralistic manner. Celebrity status takes a while to achieve, and when reached, there must be a commitment to treat the public with respect and decency, not with disrespect.

    If you are one of my regular readers, you understand I grew up in the South, during a time when separation and segregation existed. I recall seeing two water fountains and separate entrances in many locations in the State of Georgia. Once, when I was extremely thirsty, I rushed towards the “colored” fountain. Quickly, my grandmother grabbed my hand, moving me back to the line. “But, I’m thirsty and don’t want to wait in line…”

    Grandma was persistent, so I reluctantly went to the other line. Later, I wanted an answer to the question still rushing in my mind. “Grandma, why couldn’t I drink water from the ‘colored’ fountain?”

    “You never mind…you just follow the rules and stand in the proper line.”

    “Rules are made to be broken,” I whispered, under my breath.

    So began my life in a racially separated, but definitely not equal mill town. Bibb City was a lovely little mill village in Columbus, Georgia. A tiny town where everyone knew everything! Many times people shared with my grandfather that I was questioning things. I didn’t understand how the mill workers could hire beautiful black women to clean their homes, but the black men who worked in maintenance could not live in Bibb City with their families, simply because — they were black. Many of the people did not describe them as black, African-American and such. They used the “N” word in a tone and demeanor that left me cringing.

    On one occasion I stood firm. I was a little child, but I could still place my hands on hips and share in the belief that I had…that we are all created equal, regardless of our skin color. After all, I believed that God was representative of all of the colors of the rainbow – not white!

    During one summer while I stayed with my grandparents in Bibb City, I was ‘caught — playing with that little colored girl — the one who cleans the houses in Bibb City…’ Shameful, wasn’t it! There I was, playing with someone who did not say the “N” word and did not care about the color of skin. We had so much in common, until that afternoon when my papa came home from his shift at the Bibb Mill. He called me into the house and I knew I was in BIG TROUBLE this time. Papa had a switch waiting for me. When I walked inside, he swatted that switch on my bare legs, telling me over and over again that I had shamed him again. “You are not to play with that colored girl again…ever…not while you’re in my house.”

    My leg was bleeding. I rushed outside, screaming, crying, refusing to understand what I had done that was so bad. Didn’t Papa want me to have friends…good “Christian” friends?

    Flash forward many years later. America has grown to accept that everyone is equal. OK, we still need work on accepting that women are equal, and it is my belief that all men AND WOMEN are CREATED EQUAL, regardless of the color of skin.

    We have an African-American President. Women and blacks are in Congress, the Senate, and South Carolina actually elected a woman for Governor — Governor Haley. That was a total surprise to me, and I admit, she appears to be strong-minded and a good governor. Living in South Carolina, and growing up in the South, I still hear people whispering about the color of skin, and how ‘women belong in the home, taking care of the children.’ In many ways, the South is still stuck in 1950! Yes, I hear people in the South say the “N” word. Many times I have stepped up, reminding them that we are all equal, regardless of the color of our skin. We should not judge others, just because their genes or skin colors are different from ours.

    I recall on one occasion when I was in high school. I had joined the USO group and was active. The soldiers at Fort Benning in Columbus visited our events on weekends. I was broken-hearted from a recent engagement break up so I decided I could heal my wounds by dancing. My weekends were spent at the dances at the USO. On one occasion, two black soldiers asked me to dance. The GSO would not permit black girls to join, but they were quick to allow soldiers, of all colors, to attend the dances.

    I danced a slow dance with both soldiers. Never did we move together bonded tightly as one. Their hands were in their proper places. Never did they make a play for me.

    After dancing, the President of the USO tapped me on the shoulder. “Follow me to my office, please,” he said. “I need to speak with you.”

    Reluctantly, I followed him. He closed the door. “We do not allow our girls to dance with the black soldiers. Don’t do it again!”

    I shook my head. “What?” I shrieked. “You’re telling me that it’s OK for you to take their money, but as a white girl, I cannot dance with them? They can fight our wars in Vietnam, but a white girl and a black soldier who is brave and ready to fight for our country and treats me respectfully — you are forbidding me to dance with them?”

    “That’s not the way I would put it, but yes. I forbid you to dance with the black soldiers ever again!”

    I burst into tears…so stern and cold, just like my grandfather and mother. I rushed out of the room. Five soldiers were standing near the doorway. I knew every one of them. I suppose they knew that I was in trouble. I rushed by, opened the front door and left. I called my mother at the pay phone.

    Someone tapped me on the shoulder, dressed in military uniform. “What happened in there,” Larry asked.

    “Nothing.”

    “I can see it on your face. Did they tell you that you cannot dance with a black soldier?”

    “How did you know? It’s not right,” I said, wiping my tears. “They can go off to fight our wars and we cannot dance with them. You know they don’t allow black girls to join, but they certainly don’t mind collecting a black soldier’s money.”

    My mother arrived and I left.

    Days later I had made the decision to resign from the GSO girls. Larry phoned me at home, telling me that he and five of the soldiers had met with the President. “You’ll be getting a phone call from him this week.”

    “Why? I don’t want to talk to him.”

    “They’ve changed the policy and they are not accepting your resignation.”

    Sometimes being an advocate has just rewards, even at the age of seventeen!

    Now, it is 2013, and we still hear people being so judgmental and prejudice. One would think our world, along with the citizens, would not be prejudice. No longer do we see ‘colored’ written on water fountains or entrances. No longer are blacks required to ‘move to the back of the bus.’ We have Rosa Parks to thank for her courage to stand alone and be heard.

    As for Paula Deen? I lost respect in her when she announced she was Diabetic. She was still cooking with all of that butter, and sugar and such fattening ingredients. I quit watching her show. My belief is we must step forward to be an example, and she was not.

    Now, I hear that Food Network has cancelled her contract…not renewing her contract…http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-207_162-57590532/paula-deens-food-network-contract-wont-be-renewed/

    Much of this controversy occurred after Paula Deen flew to New York to appear on the Today Show, only to cancel due to ‘exhaustion.’ Please, Paula Deen and her staff, do you actually believe America is naive enough to believe that?

    Perhaps Paula Deen has simply forgotten where she came from and how she became a star, all to the credit of the Food Network.

    Yes, she made a video with an ‘apology.’ I’m not believing it at all. Last night I unsubscribed from her e-mail newsletters. I suppose I am taking a stand to vocalize that we in America need to stop the segregation we are still living in many ways. We must recognize that while it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a country to fight bigotry, racism, segregation, and downright hatred.

    This week was a reminder to me that life is short. Today, we awaken to life. Let us all pay our life forward, to give back to those who we might have judged, ridiculed or hurt. We must not back away or criticize simply due to the color of skin. I’ve had many friends in my lifetime who are black, Latino, or gay. All different but precious. I still cherish each and every one of them. Life is to be lived in the fullest every day. Let us conduct ourselves in a manner where we can look in the mirror in the morning, smile and look into who we truly are. Don’t let us judge, just because we are different, or our skin color is of a different color.

    As for Paula Deen? She has a lot to learn about living her life as a celebrity!

  • In Memory of a Friend…


    Today is Monday, another beautiful day of life to enjoy and make the most of our day. After I awaken, let the pups out and pour a cup of coffee, I hop on the computer, to hear the latest news in the world, then I click on Facebook.

    Reading a few posts on Facebook, I am shocked, stunned, broken-hearted. Why? I have lost another friend – a friend I knew in high school. A woman who always spoke to me in school. A woman I reconnected with at the high school reunion held in April 2013.

    Becki Vinson Matthews looked beautiful at the reunion. Life and age had been good to her. I recognized her on the spot. Others, well, I didn’t recognize so easily. At the Friday night function in Uptown Columbus, we rushed outside to ‘dance in the street.’ The band was too great to ignore inside a bar atmosphere. Additional classmates — mostly girls — joined us as we danced, and danced, and danced. We chatted a bit and I listened to her chatting away about life, and grandchildren. On Facebook, we read posts and made comments after the reunion.

    I was truly shocked to read that she is now an angel in Heaven, no longer with us. I confess, at the reunion, as I looked at the Memory Wall, recognizing most of the 60 classmates now deceased, the curiosity of a writer danced in my mind…curious as to who would be the next high school photograph to add to the memory wall.

    It is unfortunate that our generation has reached a time in our lives where death will occur more frequently. Still, there are so many illnesses and deaths that will attack our bodies. Apparently, Becki died from a massive heart attack. Someone wrote that she was having chest pains before the heart attack. At our class reunion, she looked like the picture of health. Dancing. Smiling. Laughing. Catching up with each of our lives. She was a member of the “Sister Chicks” a group of high school friends still connecting, dancing and sharing life together. She and a few others wanted me to become a ‘sister chick.’

    I am still in shock that she is gone and I am happy that we purchased a memory book from the reunion. Hopefully, when the day arrives and I receive my copy in the mail, Becki will be the first person I look for. She was so kind to me, telling me at the reunion that “I had no idea you could sing so well, Barbie!”

    I laughed. “Yes, I suppose my secret is out now, isn’t it!”

    Before we left the reunion I hugged Becki, thanking her for her warmth and thoughtfulness. Never did I realize that would be our last hug together.

    Rest in peace, Becki with that contagious smile on your beautiful face and warmth surrounding you. Our classmates will miss you terribly.

    To those of my class who are reading this, and to all of my readers, I would like to share a bit of advice. Heart disease is on the rise in America. Please visit the website, http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/GettingHealthy/Diet-and-Lifestyle-Recommendations_UCM_305855_Article.jsp
    to learn more about the guidelines for a heart healthy life. We are told to eat healthy, move and exercise regularly and to get a physical yearly. At my last physical, my doctor ordered an electrocardiogram. http://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health/health-topics/topics/ekg/

    I am happy to report mine was — as my doctor expressed, “Perfect.” I was so pleased since my husband had a quadruple heart bypass in early 1998. I am constantly nagging him to exercise more and to watch what he eats carefully. He ignores me. Please, if you are reading this, make a pledge to yourself to take care of yourself, and please understand, Becki looked like the picture of health in April. Slim. Trim. Active. Energetic. We never know when something might occur to take our health away, but I am a true believer in living life to the fullest every day. And, when tomorrow comes, we must do what we can to protect our health. We hear of people dying quickly from heart attacks and many of those people did not know their heart was about to stop. Becki complained of chest pains before her death. Please, let us all make a pact today that if we have any of the symptoms of heart disease, or if we simply do not feel well, let us get to the doctor or hospital, to make certain we are well.

    Symptoms of a heart attack:
    Chest pains
    Upper body discomfort in one or both arms, the back, neck, jaw, or stomach,
    Shortness of breath
    Nausea
    A feeling of lightheadedness or fainting
    Cold sweat
    http://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health//dci/pods/trans_heartatt.html
    Call 911 to get immediate treatment, please.

    In memory of Becki Vinson Matthews – a classmate, mother, wife, grandmother, sister chick and a dear friend. Rest in peace, beautiful Becki. We will miss you!

  • On Father’s Day


    Good morning, Readers:

    Another beautiful day filled with sunshine for Father’s Day 2013. This day is special to all who were close to dear ole Dad. As a child, I remember babysitting or cleaning, just to get a bit of money to buy my dad, and my papa, a Father’s Day gift. For both, I bought ties, since Papa wore ties to church on Sunday morning, and Dad wore ties to work nightly. Papa was a mill worker, a loom fixer at the dictatorial Bibb Manufacturing Company. Dad worked in the hotel industry as a night auditor. I respected both of them, striving to always please them.

    Over the years, as I grew older, Papa became highly critical of me, refusing to accept that I was growing up, and as a teenager, I loved rock and roll music, singing, dancing, and wearing makeup. As for my dad, he encouraged me. Yes, he had a quick hand and would swat us when we misbehaved, but he encouraged me to sing and to ‘move forward with life…don’t look back.’ Those wise words taught me lots about life. I practice those words in my daily life whenever I make mistakes, or someone hurts me. I look for the sunshine in tomorrow, not the rain that has fallen around me in the past.

    Papa died from Alzheimer’s Disease in the late 1980’s. The last time I saw him, he resided in a nursing home, strapped to a wheelchair, looking out the window at birds in the trees. Perhaps a metaphor for his younger days, when he was gentle and kind and loved to fish. On my last visit to see Papa, he did not know me. When I touched his shoulder to give him a hug, he screamed at me. He didn’t know me. I thought he had disowned me since he disapproved of me many years ago. Later, while working on research for a story about Alzheimer’s, I recognized the reality was, deep inside Papa’s eyes, he rejected me not because he did not love me…deep inside his brain, he didn’t know much of anything…His brain could not process that I was his granddaughter. Perhaps a hard thing to accept when we are young, rebellious and no longer the ‘apple of my grandfather’s eye.’ I’ve written about Papa many times. An award-winning screenplay titled, “Not My Papa,” is based on my grandfather’s life as a textile mill worker in Bibb City, Georgia.

    My dad lost his torrential battle with esophageal cancer on July 6, 1999, while I was opening the door to his room in a nursing home. Losing my dad tore my heart out for a long time. I had difficulty understanding how the sun could set, and rise again the next morning when my dad could no longer see the sun setting. “How can life continue when I no longer have my dad…I’m an orphan without him.’

    On Father’s Day, I take a moment to reflect on the significant men who helped guide me into the life I live today. My Dad…My overly-strict grandfather, and my husband. All of these men have guided me — sometimes with a controlling hand — leading me on the path to becoming the woman I am today.

    I hope they are proud of me. For most of the time, my husband, Phil, says he is proud of me, although there are times I see his eyes rolling upward, as if to say, “There she goes again!”

    Regardless – I would like to express how much I have cared for these men. As children, we watch the actions of our father, sometimes, they lead us to doing the same behaviors they performed on us. As wives, we watch our husbands, hopeful they are proud of us and will love us until the end of time.

    Life is truly a challenge. We awaken daily, hopeful of ‘making this a good day…’ And so we live, without looking back…moving forward…making the most of each day. We hope for tomorrow, only to recognize that tomorrow might bring challenges, heartbreak, or disappointments, but we must remember to follow the words of advice our dads gave us as children. “Don’t look back on life…move forward…”

    Today, I can hear my dad saying those words to me. I thank him for his wisdom and his love.

    Happy Father’s Day to our Dads…and thank you for guiding us along this path of life.

    There is a passage I say to myself almost daily. I suppose it is my anchor:

    “Stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit…
    It’s when things seem worse — you mustn’t quit!”

    Happy, Happy Father’s Day!

  • Robin Roberts — A True Lady of Grace!


    Yes, as a writer, I will proclaim that I am a news addict. For many, many years, I was a true groupie of the Today Show, but when they released Ann Curry from the Today Show, I decided to change channels. I did not know who was on Good Morning America until I started watching it, and I must say, I had no idea of the physical struggles of Robin Roberts due to breast cancer. Now, she is fighting MDS, myelodysplastic syndrome. According to the website, Web MD,

    “Myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS) is a condition that affects the bone marrow and the blood cells it produces.

    Your bone marrow makes different types of blood cells:

     Red blood cells, which carry oxygen in your blood.

    Today while watching Good Morning America, I cried while listening to all of the caring people who love Robin Roberts. Martina McBride truly proved what a wonderful performer and role model she is while singing, “I’m Gonna Love You Through It.” Her performance brought tears to my eyes. Those of you who read my blog on a regular basis know that I am a singer, and I love to sing songs that touch the heart. Today, I truly became a devoted fan of Good Morning America. I am praying for the speedy recovery of Robin Roberts and I pray that she will rise above the storms of  illnesses and show all of us that this journey will be not just a stepping stone for her, but an adventure into the true, admirable role model of a woman such as Robin Roberts is today!

    The relationship of Robin and her sister, Sally-Ann Roberts, appears to be a rare, and close bonding of two sisters who are definitely more than siblings. I am so envious. I have three sisters, only one that I am close to, and I cherish her. How I admire people who were blessed to have strong family relationships. It has been an intense journey for me to set the past free and become closer to my sisters. I have only accomplished my goals of family relationships with one. The other two, I wish them the best while praying that someday our ship will come back from the intense storms and find the sunshine in life, not the sorrow. To quote my father a few weeks before he died from esophageal cancer, “Move forward with life. Don’t look back.”

    I have followed my father’s advice and moved forward. I do not dwell on the sad childhood I had. I have grown to look for the sunrises in every morning and I have found peace by giving myself a positive mental attitude.  Every day I repeat the words I live by, “Today is a new day…make it great.” Sometimes I succeed, other times, I fight to pull myself up to smile again. Life isn’t easy, but it is the only life we have. We can choose to dwell on the past and the mistakes made, or we can pull ourselves up to ‘move forward with life.’

    Robin Roberts, I will miss you more than I can express on this blog, and I will be listening every day to hear how your progression is going. I believe in the power of prayer. My faith is a strong one and I know when storms come into my life, all I have to do is to lift my eyes towards the Heavens and say a prayer. Today, I pray for you, Robin, as your journey into another chapter of your blessed life. God is with you. He has provided the life support you need in your sister, Sally-Ann. I am confident that your journey will be successful and real soon, you will look to see a rainbow that will fill your heart with the best of health. May God bless you and your family as you take this journey!

    Robin Roberts, I wish you the best!