Her Heart Was Aimed Towards Me

     There wasn't a time in my life when I didn't know the Miners family. Bill and I were Cradle Roll babies at the First Presbyterian Church. We graduated from high school the same year. Leonard plowed Nadine's garden and brought them fresh fall mushrooms. Over the decades, plates of cookies, garden produce and other goodies were delivered back and forth. Our support for one another is without end.
     Intelligent and well read, they knew Shakespeare as if he were their next door neighbor. They studied and conversed about everything and anything. 
     Nancy is the last of the living. The rest are as near as her next thought. She said, "We genuinely liked each other. We had different ideas. We debated, but we didn't fight. We were always there for each other.
     "When I was small and overly shy, I was invited to a neighbor girl's birthday party. Two other friends were there, but they wouldn't talk to me. I guess they already knew each other. I stood at a distance. The phone rang. The Birthday girl handed it to me.
     "Nancy, are you having a good time?" Mom asked.
     "No," I whispered into the phone.
     "My heart is aimed towards you, Honey. It will be okay."
     "I broke out in a smile. Mom, the foundation of everlasting arms took time to check on me. Her love is the kind that is there all the time, goes all the way, always, all ways. No conditions. No clock. No yardstick. No count-it-out. All loving you for you. Carried all the way 100%.
     "Thank you for thinking of me." I hung up confident I could fit in, and I did."

©2014 Red Convertible Travel Series  
   

   

   

Dear Robin Williams,

Thank you for your contribution to life. You touched many hearts with your wit and wisdom, and will continue to do so. You could be counted on to entertain and at the same time, inspire. I love your movies and interviews and you.

By now I suspect you know you have changed form, but your life has not skipped a beat. I do not judge you. I wish you Grace and Peace.

My family has first-hand experience with the thief Parkinsons. It was a minimal tremor in the beginning. Grandma reached for a glass of water and knocked it over. One accident was nothing. But they happened more often. Broken dishes. Dropped silverware and knives. She cut herself more often. When the head shaking started, she lost her spark. The thief held her hostage and tightened the noose on her independence. Depression moved in and overtook her from time to time. She went from a vibrant, hard working woman to being dependent. 

Grandma Mae, my namesake, could no longer live alone. Unable to coordinate a spoon or hold a glass, she lived with my parents and with us. We hand fed her. Applesauce was her favorite. She liked to go for a slow ride. We took her. Her food had to be chopped fine. A survivor of Quinsy, but it left pockets in her throat that caused choking.

She died with P more than ten years later. We lost her twice. Once when the disease advanced and when she died, but we were grateful she was out of P's grip. 

Robin you will always be a part of us. Love connects hearts 
forever. 
















Whole Wheat love,

MaeAnn

P.S.I didn't make this heart. It was in the loaf I bought.

2014 Red Convertible Travel Series