Storms: "The sun will come out tomorrow"

Building

Thunder

After the rain

  My heart is heavy, full, and needs to pour. Like a thunder cloud needing to release its heavy load. So many things happen beyond my control. I can't fix everything that I want to. I try to live my life in a way that I think is right. I've lost the way to do it real, yet again. When will I learn? Politics, religion, education, all wanting to influence my life, and for what? Who cares? I just need to begin again. When the time comes that I have a few hours to myself, I hunker down and wait for the reprimand that life gives me, for waiting so long and being so stubborn. Instead it comes, little by little, a lifting, loving, forgiving little thought. "Maybe you are wrong. Easily fixed. You just need to let your ego admit that you've been a little stiff. Maybe you have been seeing things through other's eyes. Admit your errors and move on." One time my Daddy asked me "Stephanie, when are you going to start living your life for yourself?" I thought "Really? I can? Aren't you the one who made us live for everyone else?" He was a wonderful, giving, selfless man. He was the one who lived for us. I am sure that he didn't want his sacrifice to be in vain. Don't we all want that for our children? That they will live their lives for themselves. Speaking of children, Rosalind! I miss her so much. I brought flowers to her grave today. I just want to know that I will see her again, one day. Honestly, I want to believe in God so that there will be a place that all of us can be together again. I can't bear to think that there is not such a place. I cannot bear to think that there may not be a God. So I CHOOSE to have faith. What and how would I live my life if there were not a God? Would I murder, steal, lie or do anything differently? No! So can I relax into a life where I don't have to be in control? Can I just BE? I used to be able to relax only if my conscience was completely clear. Only after a Saturday afternoon trip to confession, could I rest. It is much easier to try to control my life than to rest in the arms of Jesus. Only problem is, I am not perfect. Pride, anger, jealousy, bitterness, worry, greed and a lack of faith.Those, just to name a few. Again, the answer is to rest in the arms of Jesus. Enjoy life, not control it. Have faith that I will be good enough. Faith in myself. Faith that if I stop trying so hard, I will do the right thing, anyway. Faith that the goodness is already there. Is there really anything more important? At the end of the election day, when the candidate you voted for either won or lost, did you realize that you did the best you could, but so did the other guy? We are not all that much different. We all hurt. We all love. We all want the best for ourselves and our loved ones. We may think that there are only two ways to do that. I think that there is another way. That is to drop all of the defenses and just love one another until we "aren't" anymore. When I think of how, if I had every gold coin on this earth, every treasure and gain, and could still not buy the only thing I want, my daughter back, I feel rich. Nothing compares. Until they call you and tell you that your child is not breathing, until you walk up to the grave of your child, until you've lost the only thing that money cannot bring back, you do not know how UN-important everything else really is. It singles things out, pushes it all aside, tunnels your vision to only one thing, and that is LOVE. THAT is what rich is! Then "The sun will come out tomorrow". Then the storm is over!

Grip it and Rip it!

"Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you, they belong not to you... You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves the bow that is stable."
"The Prophet" Kahlil Gibran

3-D course with "God's daughter and mine" on the right



This may be the one of the most beautiful quotations that I have ever read. It reflects my desire to be that kind of parent and person. I have always known that my daughters were not mine. They came through me and amazed me everyday. You think that your children are an extension of yourself and realize quickly that, they are not. They are more. They are better. Your pride is actually surprise. Your love is your joy at what God is showing you, about one of His children. I have always said that I can be proud of my daughters, they are God's, not mine. He can take them back whenever He wants, and He does. In this quotation Kahil Gibran combines his theory about the relationship to your children with another of my passions, Archery. I knew when I went to Camp Maryhill that I loved to shoot. It was not until much later in my life that I had the opportunity to pick up a compound bow and shoot. It has taken a lot of practice, patience and determination, but I finally found something that I can do in the field of sports. I never was athletic, so I was excited to find something that I love. I never thought of myself as competitive. Imagine the surprise, at the eruption of emotion that comes up when I finally win. Woody asks me "I didn't think that you cared about winning?" with a sly smile. With a return sly smile, I tell him that I like beating my last score and that I like winning, I just don't like that it is at someone else's expense! Not exactly a warrior's attitude, but I am getting there. Stronger, as life slings arrows my way, and I've had to learn to sling back! I've had so many battles along the way. I am sure that they are no more or less, than anyone else's, but another lesson in not comparing. Another old saying that I love is "There will always be someone better off than you and someone worse off than you!" No room for pity or pride! Just a place to be, a level playing field. In the midst of the latest political and economic disaster in our country, I happened to pick up a newspaper and the article that popped off the page was about Somalia. Reports that the SEVEN year drought had driven women to walk for miles to find help. Some arrived after leaving other family members on the side of the road to die of starvation. They walked into the town with bloody feet, only to arrive with their child, dead in their arms. I can't imagine it, as I sit here in my air conditioned home, fat and sassy, with most of my family off enjoying life. I often feel guilty that I have been so blessed, so I try to balance my guilt with good deeds. I do what I can, and then leave it in God's hands, praying the "Serenity" prayer as I let it go, like an arrow flung from my bow. You raise your children, enjoy life's gifts and pleasures, deal with the hardships, appreciate what you have, stop complaining about what you don't have and stop feeling sorry for yourself. As the old archer told me, one time,"Grip it and rip it!"

900 Round

Plain Toast

Louise Wright Guidry

  There is something about losing a child that lives in your soul. It becomes a part of you. It shapes you. Adds a wrinkle and bends your branches. It stays on the back burner of your life. Rosalind was here for a short time, but forever in my heart. Other things also live in my soul. Louise Mable Wright Guidry. My Grandmother Guidry resides permanently there. Many people have reasons to hold fondly, the memories of their grandparents. Mine are the things that make me who I am today. Mama Guidry lived next door to us. There was a field between our houses, but they were connected by a well worn path. The garden that my grandfather made was right behind our house. We picked strawberries every day in the summer. We used to run over for coffee-milk and toast bread, "plain toast" and butter. It could be at the drop of a hat and or every day after school. Anytime we were hungry, bored or just needed some comfort, she was there. She toasted loaves at a time. Grandchildren, neighbors, relatives of all kinds, knew about her coffee milk and toast bread. She cooked lunch every day. She taught me how to set the table and she served the food from dishes, never the pots. She was also known for her homemade bread, gingerbread, canned figs and just all around good food. I remember a blackberry picking adventure that ended with the best blackberry pies ever made! She used to bring me with her to the store, post office and any other errands she may have had. When we went to the post office, she would get us an ice cream cone from Frosto. She hung out her laundry. She didn't own a dryer. She lived through the "Great Depression". Her home was as neat as a pin. She saved everything, but it all had a place and everything was in its place. She had a beautiful multi colored rosary along with other ones on her dresser. We said the rosary at Mrs. Savoie's house every day in May. I would run over and borrow it for the service, when I couldn't find mine. It was always there, in its place, just like her. I would return it right away, as she asked. It sits in my dresser now. When I come upon it, it revives memories and feelings that there are no names for.
   Mama was such a lady. She was calm and peaceful. Whenever we were sick, we would stay with her. We rested on her sofa and watched television. On weekend mornings we would wake up and after breakfast, play with simple things. We would color, swing on the "big swing", make mud pies, roam the woods and clean the cow trough with the goldfish in it. We would pick figs and berries and grapes. She taught me how to sew, crochet, draw, cook and bake. I would ask her to let me "help" cut up a chicken and she would simply say "just watch", I did. She milked the cows and made butter. She made the best strawberry shortcake using dried bread, slow baked at a very low heat, all day. She whipped the cream and sugared up the berries. She shared everything she had with anyone who was around. She would talk to me about our family history, about all the men and women who came before us. Men and women who molded and shaped who I am today, without knowing it or me. They were newspaper men, teachers and housewives of Swiss descent.  Recently I came across some letters from her mother, my great-grandmother. Her name was Mable Louise Sandoz Wright. She was a beautiful lady. After her husband died of TB, at an early age, she opened a boarding house on Third Street in Crowley. She finished raising her children there. She had five. She was a survivor. From those letters, I got to know her a little better. In a strange way, I feel as if it brought her back to life. She mentioned the bedspread that she was crocheting and said that she felt that she crocheted too slowly. That was so long ago. I grew up sleeping in the antique bed that it graced. I have her wedding slip, complete with handmade lace, that she created. It is one of my most precious possessions. I hope one day to pass it on to Samarah for Lilli. Not that she could wear it. It would probably shred apart but I hope that she treasures it as I do. I also have the giant scrapbook that "Aunt Gertie and Aunt Lelia" made for my grandmother when she was a small child. It is a remarkable thing. They were Mable's sisters and were both school teachers. They lived in Opelousas, where the Sandoz family lived, after settling from Switzerland. Neither ever married.
    The scents of my grandmother and childhood bring me back to a happy place. Whenever I smell the familiar scents I am transported to a wonderful time. She used Coty face powder and lipstick. Her rouge was in little compact. She didn't wear much. She wore a kerchief on her head in winter and windy days. It was a scarf folded in half and worn like a Russian babushka. She used Arrid cream deodorant. She wore minimal jewelry, diamond earrings, wedding and engagement ring and a delicate watch. The sheets were stored in an armoire in her bedroom. When you took them out to put them on the bed, they smelled so good. It was the scent of outdoors, Tide, and antique wood, mingled with the smell of her house. A smell that has never been duplicated, try as I might.
   Every week I have Sam's two munchkins. I love them like nothing else in this world. I try to be the best grandmother that I can be. I struggled for a couple of years, not even realizing that I was trying to figure out what my identity would be, as a grandmother. Would I be a grandmother like mine? You know, the blue/grey haired one, baking gingerbread cookies. Would I be the Harley kind, dressing like a teenager, trying to stay young? I wanted to be a grandmother that they would remember, as I did mine.

   Recently, I learned a hard lesson. I had been rushing around trying to prove myself. This world does not reward simplicity. It only honors success. It doesn't honor homemaking, so neither did I, although I love it! Yes, cleaning,"piddling" as she called it, picking up, tidying up the house, laundry, hanging out sheets, washing my dishes. Being a homebody. I wasn't satisfied being me because I judged myself against the yardstick of others. I was always trying to accomplish that list of "shoulds" even those things disguised as "fun" things. Proving and proving again that I was worth something. Seduced into the world's competitive route. Seduced by those that are caught up in the same way, trying to prove their worth. All the while knowing the truth, that was hanging by a thread, inside. The one that says to me, "Give it up. Go with the flow. Be yourself. Stop explaining. Do what you want, when you want, the way you want. Live by your own soul's guidance". And it all became so clear, so simple. You are just fine, if you do nothing else in this world but live and love my Woody, my daughter, my grandbabies and keep house. Anything else is a bonus! I could trust my life. I could trust myself. My life, at its simplest, most boring, most plain, was OK. Because it is mine. Thank you God for "My Life". My most beautiful life. I would be like my grandmother, because I would be happy to just be me. Thanks, Mama for the example you set, and for just being you. Thanks for the "plain toast".

Desiderata

 

 

 

This is one of my favorite poems or prayers.

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let not this blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

My Wonderful Sister, Allison Melancon!

This post is written by my sister~ Allison "Alli"!

Where do they go?

by Allison Tanner Melancon on Wednesday, January 5, 2011 at 9:53am

I watched a movie the other day, Temple Grandin, when her horse died she asked, "Where do they go?"  I questioned that so many times in my life..I do believe people who pass either go to Heaven or Hell, but I think they can communicate with us as well...soooooo... After Russell died, I knew he spoke to me in so many signs...I'd call Steph and say OK this is what happened today...and so on...I knew he was saying...keep pushing...don't let this rest..so we didn't and the outcome was Todd's arrest..so this weekend I decided to clean out my closet..packed to the brim with crap I don't need...I came across a blue bag..it's been there for 2 years, and I assumed it was Beany's.  The hours after the accident were filled with running here and there, collecting this and that for the funeral that I must have stuck this bag in my closet so I wouldn't forget to give it to Sam..well I gave her the other things I had, for some reason this bag was left.  I handed it to Beany and said, Please do something with this stuff...(thinking it was his)..he opened the bag and pulled out two things before it hit me like a brick...an LSU hat and a Dacula coaching shirt...OH crap..that's Russell's things..just leave it on the table and I'll give it to Sam when I see her..So after all of the drama of yesterday, today I'm preparing myself walk into the DA's office and push for the speedy trial of Todd...I opened up his bag..behold his Bible.  I felt kind of nosy going through his Bible like an invasion of his privacy, but one of the things I do when I'm questioning is ask the question and flip to the first page I can to see what the answer will be...kind of what I did the day I asked about the accident in Joel Osteen's book...long story..anyway, so I didn't want to do that in his Bible but did think, Russell tell me what you want...there were 4 things in his Bible sticking out...two flyers from the sermon he must have attended one said, Pain and grief are ___________.  He filled in *inevitable...the other was a small piece of paper that had " Word Bank..with 4 words.. Jesus, born, world, dead"  stuck between Number 4 and 6, the other was a book marker type thing you can tell Lil or Ike man colored and he prob just stuck it in the middle of his Bible between Songs of Solomon 3 and 5...but the only thing outlined in his entire Bible by pen was this:

Mark 12:22
Have faith in God
Truly I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, "Be taken up and cast into the sea" and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says is gong to happen, it will be granted to him.
Therefore I say to you, all things for which you pray and ask. believe that you have received them, and they will be granted you.

I'm giving Sam Russell's Bible today...

Santa and Margaret Guidry Tanner

   Christmas has come and gone, once again. When I was a child, I remember telling my grandmother Guidry, that the summer was over too quickly and that the time had flown by. She told me that the older you get, the faster it flies. I have found that to be true. Speaking of truth, I know the reason for the season. I do. But I can't help the way that I feel, every time I see a Santa Claus or Christmas lights. As children we knew when it was time for Christmas. The first signs were lighted bells coming out of our neighbor, Mr. Kerr's, chimney. We believed in the jolly old man that waved from his front porch and it made the time magical. Mr. Kerr decorated every tree and bush with lights and figures. We made our lists and were motivated to behave, most of the time. But that was during the Christmas season. What we lived every day, was the "true meaning" of Christmas. That thing that people want to remind you of, "what Christmas is really all about". What they don't realize, is that, no one really needs to say it. I hear people say " It's not about presents". Really? I didn't know! Seriously? We get it. But to me, it IS about the giving, not the getting. I love to buy and give gifts. Isn't that a Christian value? LOL! I have one surviving thing from my childhood Christmases, a little Santa Claus bank that my mother gave us. She was the most giving and selfless person I knew. She taught us the true meaning of Christmas, throughout the year. So many times my parents sacrificed for us to have the important things in life. They taught us to give out of our lack. To me that is the magic of Christmas.
   My mother passed away at thirty nine years old, after a two and a half year battle with cancer. But when she was healthy, she was the most fun mother in town. Everyone said that they loved to come to our house. It wasn't the neatest home, we were five kids and two parents, but it was a home where she let us be kids. Our home was clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy! My mother was relaxed that way, but not in her expectations for our character building. We went to a Catholic school, which was a sacrifice that they made for us, a "gift". We went to church every Sunday and confession every Saturday. During Lent, we attended the Stations of the Cross and at least once a week we attended mass in addition to Sunday mass. Every Sunday we had church and then lunch with my father's family. His mother, Mama Tanner, cooked a huge lunch and afterwards we watched football and then the adults later played cards or dominoes. That's not to forget prayers at St. Michael's morning assembly, meals and bedtime. On Sundays after church, we spent the day with all of our cousins too!  We played outside and used our imaginations. We colored in color books, played chase or "123 red light!" and "Mother may I?" We had traditions and continuity in our lives, which made for a stable and secure home life. Life seemed simple then.

   My birthday is on December 12th. One year, she took me with her to do the grocery shopping, just the two of us. It was the Saturday before my big day. At the store, she bought me a container of candy in the shape of a peppermint stick and another Santa something for my birthday gift. I remember how special she made me feel. It had always been her mission to make each of us feel special and loved in our own way. One summer she took all five of us to the store and let us each pick out one toy. It was a memorable time because it didn't happen every day or year for that matter. I already had in my mind, that I wanted a SLINKY. They didn't have one at the store where everyone else had found their surprise gift. My mother, being the kindest soul, told me that she would stop by another place and let me look for one. She did and I found one! I will never forget the feeling of appreciation for her effort, just for me. I am sure my siblings could recount the ways that she did that for them too. She did have a way of making us all feel special.
   On December 30, 2010, she would have been 73 years old. I wonder what kind of "old lady" she would have been. Would she be old or would she still be young at heart? I think the latter. She would have approached aging like she did cancer, with a huge fight. Going out with style and dignity. I only have my memories of long ago, to emulate her with. In her short life she packed a punch. She left us with strength and courage. We all miss her. Her life was too short, but I am sure she was waiting with open arms for all of my loved ones who have joined her. Maybe she needed to be there for them! Who knows?! We all try to guess the meaning and the reasons. We try to figure it out. The meaning of events, tragedies, life, Christmas. For me, it's about the giving and FORgiving. It's the reason for the season. The season of "My Beautiful Life".

Russell Edward Hays

  

   The initials are REH. When my daughter Samarah was a teenager, she was browsing around in an antique store and found a Zippo lighter. It was engraved with the initials REH. She bought it despite the meaningless initials and made the comment that, "it will mean something one day". A few years later she met Russell Edward Hays. Weeks into their courtship, he happened upon the lighter. He picked it up and said that those were his initials. Hmmmm....He became her husband, but not because of his initials. LOL! She had found her soul mate. They truly loved each other. The colors that were woven into their lives were rusty reds, oranges and yellows. They were the colors of the flowers, in their wedding, the color of his hair and the color she chose in almost every sentimental decision she made.

   My fondest memory of my son in law is him standing in my kitchen, playing his violin, singing a song to my daughter. It was one that he was to sing at a wedding that day. She wanted me to hear it. The name of the song was "The luckiest" by Ben Folds. He sang and played it while looking straight into her eyes throughout the whole thing. He said that he wished he had written it. I still tear up at the memory. I saw the love pass between them and knew that I would never need to worry about them. A mother's only wish. The love, trust and bond was rooted in the Lord. Their faith was a quiet force that they did not flaunt. They just lived it. It grounded their life in what was important. Russell was protective and fiercely loyal. He loved Christ and is with him today. Of this I am sure. He believed he was the luckiest man. I think he was. He would be 34 this year on December 10th.

  I hang an ornament on my Christmas tree for each member of my family. I chose a little glass mushroom for him, years ago. He and Sam loved to eat at Mellow Mushroom and he was like the hippies from the 70s. Mushrooms were very popular then. They were on everything. As I walked in my yard this week, I noticed a little color of orange poking out of some leaves. I uncovered these tiny mushrooms. I realized what it was. A little hello from Russell, around his birthday. I see these things as signs. Signs that our loved ones, who have passed on, live on. So happy birthday, my son in law. I love you and I miss you. Peace be with you.